MCALLISTER  AND 
HIS  DOUBLE 


BNTV.  OF  CALIF.  LIBRARY.  LOS 


"Throw  up  your  hands!" 


MCALLISTER 

AND   HIS   DOUBLE 


BY 

ARTHUR    TRAIN 


ILLUSTRATED 


CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 

NEW  YORK   :::::::     1909 


COPYRIGHT,  1905,  BY 
CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 


Published,  September,  1905 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

MCALLISTER'S  CHRISTMAS i 

THE  BARON  DE  VILLE 53 

THE  ESCAPE  OF  WILKINS 77 

THE  GOVERNOR-GENERAL'S  TRUNK     .     .     .     .113 

THE  GOLDEN  TOUCH 141 

MCALLISTER'S  DATA  OF  ETHICS 177 

MCALLISTER'S  MARRIAGE 205 

THE  JAILBIRD 233 

IN  THE  COURSE  OF  JUSTICE 255 

THE  MAXIMILIAN  DIAMOND 283 

EXTRADITION 311 


2133193 


MCALLISTER'S  CHRISTMAS 


McAllister's  Christmas 


MCALLISTER  was  out  of  sorts.  All  the 
afternoon  he  had  sat  in  the  club  window 
and  watched  the  Christmas  shoppers  hurrying  by 
with  their  bundles.  He  thanked  God  he  had  no 
brats  to  buy  moo-cows  and  bow-wows  for.  The 
very  nonchalance  of  these  victims  of  a  fate  that 
had  given  them  families  irritated  him.  McAllis 
ter  was  a  clubman,  pure  and  simple ;  that  is  to  say 
though  neither  simple  nor  pure,  he  was  a  clubman 
and  nothing  more.  He  had  occupied  the  same 
seat  by  the  same  window  during  the  greater  part 
of  his  earthly  existence,  and  they  were  the  same 
seat  and  window  that  his  father  had  filled  before 
him.  His  select  and  exclusive  circle  called  him 
"  Chubby,"  and  his  five-and-forty  years  of  terra 
pin  and  cocktails  had  given  him  a  graceful  rotund 
ity  of  person  that  did  not  belie  the  name.  They 
had  also  endowed  him  with  a  cheerful  though 
somewhat  florid  countenance,  and  a  permanent 
sense  of  well-being. 

3 


McAllister's  Christmas 

As  the  afternoon  wore  on  and  the  pedestrians 
became  fewer,  McAllister  sank  deeper  and  deeper 
into  gloom.  The  club  was  deserted.  Every 
body  had  gone  out  of  town  to  spend  Christmas 
with  someone  else,  and  the  Winthrops,  on  whom 
he  had  counted  for  a  certainty,  had  failed  for  some 
reason  to  invite  him.  He  had  waited  confidently 
until  the  last  minute,  and  now  he  was  stranded, 
alone. 

It  began  to  snow  softly,  gently.  McAllister 
threw  himself  disconsolately  into  a  leathern  arm 
chair  by  the  smouldering  logs  on  the  six-foot 
hearth.  A  servant  in  livery  entered,  pulled  down 
the  shades,  and  after  touching  a  button  that  threw 
a  subdued  radiance  over  the  room,  withdrew 
noiselessly. 

"  Come  back  here,  Peter!  "  growled  McAllis 
ter.  "  Anybody  in  the  club?  " 

"  Only  Mr.  Tomlinson,  sir." 

McAllister  swore  under  his  breath. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  replied  Peter. 

McAllister  shot  a  quick  glance  at  him. 

"  I  didn't  say  anything.     You  may  go." 

This  time  Peter  got  almost  to  the  door. 

"  Er — Peter;  ask  Mr.  Tomlinson  if  he  will  dine 
with  me." 

Peter  presently  returned  with  the  intelligence 
that  Mr.  Tomlinson  would  be  delighted. 

4 


McAllister's  Christmas 

"  Of  course,"  grumbled  McAllister  to  himself. 
"  No  one  ever  knew  Tomlinson  to  refuse  any 
thing." 

He  ordered  dinner,  and  then  took  up  an  evening 
paper  in  which  an  effort  had  been  made  to  conceal 
the  absence  of  news  by  summarizing  the  achieve 
ments  of  the  past  year.  Staring  head-lines  invited 
his  notice  to 

A  YEAR  OF  PROGRESS. 


What  the  Tenement-House  Commission 
Has  Accomplished. 


FURTHER  NEED  OF  PRISON  REFORM. 

He  threw  down  the  paper  in  disgust.  This  re 
form  made  him  sick.  Tenements  and  prisons! 
Why  were  the  papers  always  talking  about  tene 
ments  and  prisons?  They  were  a  great  deal  bet 
ter  than  the  people  who  lived  in  them  deserved. 
He  recalled  Wilkins,  his  valet,  who  had  stolen  his 
black  pearl  scarf-pin.  It  increased  his  ill-humor. 
Hang  Wilkins!  The  thief  was  probably  out  by 
this  time  and  wearing  the  pin.  It  had  been  a 
matter  of  jest  among  his  friends  that  the  servant 
had  looked  not  unlike  his  master.  McAllister 
winced  at  the  thought. 

"  Dinner  is  served,"  said  Peter. 
5 


McAllister's  Christmas 

An  hour  and  a  half  later,  Tomlinson  and  Mc 
Allister,  having  finished  a  sumptuous  repast,  stared 
stupidly  at  each  other  across  their  liqueurs.  They 
were  stuffed  and  bored.  Tomlinson  was  a  thin 
man  who  knew  everything  positively.  McAllister 
hated  him.  He  always  felt  when  in  his  company 
like  the  woman  who  invariably  answered  her  hus 
band's  remarks  by  "  'Tain't  so!  It's  just  the  op 
posite!  "  Tomlinson  was  trying  to  make  conver 
sation  by  repeating  assertively  what  he  had  read 
in  the  evening  press. 

"  Now,  our  prisons,"  he  announced  authorita 
tively.  "  Why,  it  is  outrageous !  The  people  are 
crowded  in  like  cattle ;  the  food  is  loathsome.  It's 
a  disgrace  to  a  civilized  city !  " 

This  was  the  last  straw  to  McAllister. 

"  Look  here,"  he  snapped  back  at  Tomlinson, 
who  shrank  behind  his  cigar  at  the  vehemence  of 
the  attack,  "what  do  you  know  about  it?  I  tell 
you  it's  all  rot !  It's  all  politics !  Our  tenements 
are  all  right,  and  so  are  our  prisons.  The  law  of 
supply  and  demand  regulates  the  tenements;  and 
who  pays  for  the  prisons,  I'd  like  to  know?  We 
pay  for  'em,  and  the  scamps  that  rob  us  live  in  'em 
for  nothing.  The  Tombs  is  a  great  deal  better 
than  most  second-class  hotels  on  the  Continent.  I 
know!  I  had  a  valet  once  that —  Oh,  what's 
the  use  I  I'd  be  glad  to  spend  Christmas  in  no 

6 


McAllister's  Christmas 

worse  place.  Reform !  Stuff !  Don't  tell  me !  " 
He  sank  back  purple  in  the  face. 

"  Oh,  of  course — if  you  know!"  Tomlinson 
hesitated  politely,  remembering  that  McAllister 
had  signed  for  the  dinner. 

"  Well,  I  do  know,"  affirmed  McAllister. 


II 

"No-el!  No-el!  No-el!  No-el!"  rang  out  the 
bells,  as  McAllister  left  the  club  at  twelve  o'clock 
and  started  down  the  avenue. 

"  No-el!  No-el!  "  hummed  McAllister.  "  Pretty 
old  air!  "  he  thought.  He  had  almost  forgotten 
that  it  was  Christmas  morning.  As  he  felt  his  way 
gingerly  over  the  stone  sidewalks,  the  bells  were 
ringing  all  around  him.  First  one  chime,  then 
another.  "  No-el !  No-el !  No-el !  No-el !"  They 
ceased,  leaving  the  melody  floating  on  the  moist 
night  air. 

The  snow  began  to  fall  irregularly  in  patchy 
flakes,  then  gradually  turned  to  rain.  First  a  soft, 
wet  mist,  that  dimmed  the  electric  lights  and 
shrouded  the  hotel  windows;  then  a  fine  sprinkle; 
at  last  the  chill  rain  of  a  winter's  night.  McAllis 
ter  turned  up  his  coat-collar  and  looked  about  for 
a  cab.  It  was  too  late.  He  hurried  hastily  down 
the  avenue.  Soon  a  welcome  sight  met  his  eye — a 

7. 


McAllister's  Christmas 

coupe,  a  night-hawk,  crawling  slowly  down  the 
block,  on  the  lookout,  no  doubt,  for  belated  Christ 
mas  revellers.  Without  superfluous  introduction 
McAllister  made  a  dive  for  the  door,  shouted  his 
address,  and  jumped  inside.  The  driver,  but  half- 
roused  from  his  lethargy,  muttered  something  un 
intelligible  and  pulled  in  his  horse.  At  the  same 
moment  the  dark  figure  of  a  man  swiftly  emerged 
from  a  side  street,  ran  up  to  the  cab,  opened  the 
door,  threw  in  a  heavy  object  upon  McAllister's 
feet,  and  followed  it  with  himself. 

"  Let  her  go !  "  he  cried,  slamming  the  door. 
The  driver,  without  hesitation,  lashed  his  horse 
and  started  at  a  furious  gallop  down  the  slippery 
avenue. 

Then  for  the  first  time  the  stranger  perceived 
McAllister.  There  was  a  muttered  curse,  a  gleam 
of  steel  as  they  flashed  by  a  street-lamp,  and  the 
clubman  felt  the  cold  muzzle  of  a  revolver  against 
his  cheek. 

"  Speak,  and  I'll  blow  yer  head  off !  " 

The  cab  swayed  and  swerved  in  all  directions, 
and  the  driver  retained  his  seat  with  difficulty. 
McAllister,  clinging  to  the  sides  of  the  rocking 
vehicle,  expected  every  moment  to  be  either  shot 
or  thrown  out  and  killed. 

"  Don't  move !  "  hissed  his  companion. 

McAllister  tried  with  difficulty  not  to  move. 
8 


McAllister's  Christmas 

Suddenly  there  came  a  shrill  whistle,  followed 
by  the  clatter  of  hoofs.  A  figure  on  horseback 
dashed  by.  The  driver,  endeavoring  to  rein  in 
his  now  maddened  beast,  lost  his  balance  and 
pitched  overboard.  There  was  a  confusion  of 
shouts,  a  blue  flash,  a  loud  report.  The  horse 
sprang  into  the  air  and  fell,  kicking,  upon  the  pave 
ment  ;  the  cab  crashed  upon  its  side ;  amid  a  shower 
of  glass  the  door  parted  company  with  its  hinges, 
and  the  stranger,  placing  his  heel  on  McAllister's 
stomach,  leaped  quickly  into  the  darkness.  A 
moment  later,  having  recovered  a  part  of  his  scat 
tered  senses,  our  hero,  thrusting  himself  through 
the  shattered  framework  of  the  cab,  staggered  to 
his  feet.  He  remembered  dimly  afterward  having 
expected  to  create  a  mild  sensation  among  the  spec 
tators  by  announcing,  in  response  to  their  polite 
inquiries  as  to  his  safety,  that  he  was  "  quite  un 
injured."  Instead,  however,  the  glare  of  a  police 
man's  lantern  was  turned  upon  his  dishevelled 
countenance,  and  a  hoarse  voice  shouted : 
'  Throw  up  your  hands !  " 

He  threw  them  up.  Like  the  Phoenix  rising 
from  its  ashes,  McAllister  emerged  from  the 
debris  which  surrounded  him.  On  either  side  of 
the  cab  he  beheld  a  policeman  with  a  levelled 
revolver.  A  mounted  officer  stood  sentinel  beside 
the  smoking  body  of  the  horse. 

9 


McAllister's   Christmas 

"  No  tricks,  now  !  "  continued  the  voice.  "  Pull 
your  feet  out  of  that  mess,  and  keep  your  hands 
up !  Slip  on  the  nippers,  Tom.  Better  go 
through  him  here.  They  always  manage  to 
lose  somethin'  goin'  over." 

McAllister  wondered  where  "  Over "  was. 
Before  he  could  protest,  he  was  unceremoniously 
seated  upon  the  body  of  the  dead  horse  and  the 
officers  were  going  rapidly  through  his  clothes. 

'  Thought  so !  "  muttered  Tom,  as  he  drew  out 
of  McAllister's  coat-pocket  a  revolver  and  a 
jimmy.  '  Just  as  well  to  unballast  'em  at  the 
start."  A  black  calico  mask  and  a  small  bottle 
filled  with  a  colorless  liquid  followed. 

Tom  drew  a  quick  breath. 

"So  you're  one  of  those,  are  ye?"  he  added 
with  an  oath. 

The  victim  of  this  astounding  adventure  had 
not  yet  spoken.  Now  he  stammered: 

"  Look  here !  Who  do  you  think  I  am  ?  This 
is  all  a  mistake." 

Tom  did  not  deign  to  reply. 

The  officer  on  horseback  had  dismounted  and 
was  poking  among  the  pieces  of  cab. 

"  What's  this  here?  "  he  inquired,  as  he  dragged 
a  large  bundle  covered  with  black  cloth  into  the 
circle  of  light,  and,  untying  a  bit  of  cord,  poured 
its  contents  upon  the  pavement.  A  glittering  sil- 

10 


McAllister's  Christmas 

ver  service  rolled  out  upon  the  asphalt  and  reflected 
the  glow  of  the  lanterns. 

"  Gee!  look  at  all  the  swag!  "  cried  Tom.  "  I 
wonder  where  he  melts  it  up." 

Faintly  at  first,  then  nearer  and  nearer,  came 
the  harsh  clanging  of  the  "  hurry  up  "  wagon. 

"  Get  up !  "  directed  Tom,  punctuating  his  order 
with  mild  kicks.  Then,  as  the  driver  reined  up 
the  panting  horses  alongside,  the  officer  grabbed 
his  prisoner  by  the  coat-collar  and  yanked  him  to 
his  feet. 

"  Jump  in,"  he  said  roughly. 

"  My  God !  "  exclaimed  our  friend  half-aloud, 
"  where  are  they  going  to  take  me?  " 

"  To  the  Tombs — for  Christmas !  "  answered 
Tom. 

Ill 

McAllister,  hatless,  stumbled  into  the  wagon 
and  was  thrust  forcibly  into  a  corner.  Above  the 
steady  drum  of  the  rain  upon  the  waterproof  cover 
he  could  hear  the  officers  outside  packing  up  the 
silverware  and  discussing  their  capture. 

The  hot  japanned  tin  of  the  wagon-lamps 
smelled  abominably.  The  heavy  breathing  of  the 
horses,  together  with  the  sickening  odor  of  rubber 
and  damp  straw,  told  him  that  this  was  no  dream, 
but  a  frightful  reality. 

ii 


McAllister's   Christmas 

"  He's  a  bad  un!  "  came  Tom's  voice  in  tones 
of  caution.  '  You  can  see  his  lay  is  the  gen 
tleman  racket.  Wait  till  he  gets  to  the  precinct 
and  hear  the  steer  he'll  give  the  sergeant.  He's 
a  wise  un,  and  don't  you  forget  it!  " 

As  the  wagon  started,  the  officers  swung  on  to 
the  steps  behind.  McAllister,  crouching  in  the 
straw  by  the  driver's  seat,  tried  to  understand  what 
had  happened.  Apart  from  a  few  bruises  and  a 
cut  on  his  forehead  he  had  escaped  injury,  and, 
while  considerably  shaken  up,  was  physically  little 
the  worse  for  his  adventure.  His  head,  however, 
ached  badly.  What  he  suffered  from  most  was  a 
new  and  strange  sensation  of  helplessness.  It  was 
as  if  he  had  stepped  into  another  world,  in  which 
he — McAllister,  of  the  Colophon  Club — did  not 
belong  and  the  language  of  which  he  did  not  speak. 
The  ignominy  of  his  position  crushed  him.  Never 
again,  should  this  disgrace  become  known,  could 
he  bring  himself  to  enter  the  portals  of  the  club. 
To  be  the  hero  of  an  exciting  adventure  with  a 
burglar  in  a  runaway  cab  was  one  matter,  but  to 
be  arrested,  haled  to  prison  and  locked  up,  was 
quite  another.  Once  before  the  proper  authori 
ties,  it  would  be  simple  enough  to  explain  who  and 
what  he  was,  but  the  question  that  troubled  him 
was  how  to  avoid  publicity.  He  remembered  the 
bills  in  his  pocket.  Fortunately  they  were  still 

12 


McAllister's  Christmas 

there.  In  spite  of  the  handcuffs,  he  wormed  them 
out  and  surreptitiously  held  up  the  roll.  The 
guard  started  visibly,  and,  turning  away  his  head, 
allowed  McAllister  to  thrust  the  wad  into  his 
hand. 

"Can't  I  square  this,  somehow?"  whispered 
our  hero,  hesitatingly. 

The  guard  broke  into  a  loud  guffaw.  "  Get  on 
to  him !  "  he  laughed.  "  He's  at  it  already,  Tom. 
Look  at  the  dough  he  took  out  of  his  pants! 
You're  right  about  his  lay."  He  turned  fiercely 
upon  McAllister,  who,  dazed  by  this  sudden  turn 
of  affairs,  once  more  retreated  into  his  corner. 

The  three  officers  counted  the  money  ostenta 
tiously  by  the  light  of  a  lantern. 

"  Eighty  plunks !  Thought  we  was  cheap, 
didn't  he?"  remarked  the  guard  scornfully. 
"  No;  eighty  plunks  won't  square  this  job  for  you  I 
It'll  take  nearer  eight  years.  No  more  monkey 
business,  now!  You've  struck  the  wrong  com 
bine!" 

McAllister  saw  that  he  had  been  guilty  of  a  ter 
rible  faux  pas.  Any  explanation  to  these  officers 
was  clearly  impossible.  With  an  official  it  would 
be  different.  He  had  once  met  a  police  commis 
sioner  at  dinner,  and  remembered  that  he  had 
seemed  really  almost  like  a  gentleman. 

The  wagon  drew  up  at  a  police  station,  and  pres- 
13 


McAllister's   Christmas 

ently  McAllister  found  himself  in  a  small  room, 
at  one  end  of  which  iron  bars  ran  from  floor  to 
ceiling.  A  kerosene  lamp  cast  a  dim  light  over  a 
weather-beaten  desk,  behind  which,  half-asleep,  re 
clined  an  officer  on  night  duty.  A  single  other 
chair  and  four  large  octagonal  stone  receptacles 
were  the  only  remaining  furniture. 

The  man  behind  the  desk  opened  his  eyes, 
yawned,  and  stared  stupidly  at  the  officers.  A 
clock  directly  overhead  struck  "  one  "  with  harsh, 
vibrant  clang. 

"  Wot  yer  got?  "  inquired  the  sergeant. 

"  A  second-story  man,"  answered  the  guard. 

"  He  took  to  a  cab,"  explained  Tom,  "  and  him 
and  his  partner  give  us  a  fierce  chase  down  the  ave- 
noo.  O'Halloran  shot  the  horse,  and  the  cab  was 
all  knocked  to  hell.  The  other  fellow  clawed  out 
before  we  could  nab  him.  But  we  got  this  one 
all  right" 

"  Hi,  there,  McCarthy!  "  shouted  the  sergeant 
to  someone  in  the  dim  vast  beyond.  "  Come  and 
open  up."  He  examined  McAllister  with  a  de 
gree  of  interest.  "  Quite  a  swell  guy!  "  he  com 
mented.  "  Them  dress  clothes  must  have  been 
real  pretty  onc't." 

McAllister  stood  with  soaked  and  rumpled  hair, 
hatless  and  collarless,  his  coat  torn  and  splashed, 
and  his  shirt-bosom  bloody  and  covered  with  mud. 

14 


McAllister's   Christmas 

He  wanted  to  cry,  for  the  first  time  in  thirty-five 
years. 

;<  Wot's  yer  name?  "  asked  the  sergeant. 

The  prisoner  remained  stiffly  mute.  He  would 
have  suffered  anything  rather  than  disclose  him 
self. 

"Where  do  yer  live?" 

Still  no  answer.  The  sergeant  gave  vent  to  a 
grim  laugh. 

"  Mum,  eh?  "  He  scribbled  something  in  the 
blotter  upon  the  desk  before  him.  Then  he  raised 
his  eyes  and  scrutinized  McAllister's  face.  Sud 
denly  he  jumped  to  his  feet. 

"  Well,  of  all  the  luck!  "  he  exclaimed.  "  Do 
you  know  who  you've  caught?  It's  Fatty 
Welch!" 

IV 

How  he  had  managed  to  live  through  the  night 
that  followed  McAllister  could  never  afterward 
understand.  Locked  in  a  cell,  alone,  to  be  sure, 
but  with  no  light,  he  took  off  his  dripping  coat  and 
threw  himself  on  the  wooden  seat  that  served 
for  a  bed.  It  was  about  six  inches  too  short. 
He  lay  there  for  a  few  moments,  then  got 
wearily  to  his  feet  and  began  to  pace  up  and 
down  the  narrow  cell.  His  legs  and  abdomen, 
which  had  been  the  recipients  of  so  much  attention, 

15 


McAllister's  Christmas 

pained  him  severely.  The  occupant  of  the  next 
apartment,  awakened  by  our  friend's  arrival,  began 
to  show  irritation.  He  ordered  McAllister  in  no 
gentle  language  to  abstain  from  exercise  and  go  to 
sleep.  A  woman  farther  down  the  corridor  com 
menced  to  moan  drearily  to  herself.  Evidently 
sleep  had  made  her  forget  her  sorrow,  but  now  in 
the  middle  of  the  night  it  came  back  to  her  with 
redoubled  force.  Her  groans  racked  McAllister's 
heart.  A  stir  ran  all  along  the  cells — sounds  of 
people  tossing  restlessly,  curses,  all  the  nameless 
noises  of  the  jail.  McAllister,  fearful  of  bring 
ing  some  new  calamity  upon  his  head,  sat  down. 
He  had  been  shivering  when  he  came  in;  now  he 
reeked  with  perspiration.  The  air  was  fetid. 
The  only  ventilation  came  through  the  gratings  of 
the  door,  and  a  huge  stove  just  beyond  his  cell  ren 
dered  the  temperature  almost  unbearable.  He 
began  to  throw  off  his  garments  one  by  one. 
Again  he  drew  his  knees  to  his  chest  and  tried  to 
sleep,  but  sleep  was  impossible.  Never  had  Mc 
Allister  in  all  his  life  known  such  wretchedness  of 
body,  such  abject  physical  suffering.  But  his 
agony  of  mind  was  even  more  unbearable.  Vague 
apprehensions  of  infectious  disease  floating  in  the 
nauseous  air,  or  of  possible  pneumonia,  unnerved 
and  tortured  him.  Stretched  on  the  floor  he 
fell  at  length  into  a  coma  of  exhaustion,  in  which 

16 


McAllister's  Christmas 

he  fancied  that  he  was  lying  in  a  warm  bath  in 
the  porcelain  tub  at  home.  In  the  room  beyond  he 
could  see  Frazier,  his  valet,  laying  out  his  pajamas 
and  dressing-gown.  There  was  a  delicious  odor  of 
that  violet  perfume  he  always  used.  In  a  minute 
he  would  jump  into  bed.  Then  the  valet  suddenly 
came  into  the  bath-room  and  began  to  pound  his 
master  on  the  back  of  the  neck.  For  some  reason 
he  did  not  resent  this.  It  seemed  quite  natural 
and  proper.  He  merely  put  up  his  hand  to  ward 
off  the  blows,  and  found  the  keeper  standing  over 
him. 

"  Here's  some  breakfast,"  remarked  that  official. 
"  Tom  sent  out  and  got  it  for  ye.  The  city  don't 
supply  no  alter  carty"  McAllister  vaguely  rubbed 
his  eyes.  The  keeper  shut  and  locked  the  door, 
leaving  behind  him  on  the  seat  a  tin  mug  of  scald 
ing  hot  coffee  and  a  half  loaf  of  sour  bread. 

McAllister  arose  and  felt  his  clothes.  They 
were  entirely  dry,  but  had  shrunk  perceptibly.  He 
was  surprised  to  find  that,  save  for  the  dizziness 
in  his  head,  he  felt  not  unlike  himself.  Moreover, 
he  was  most  abominably  hungry.  He  knelt  down 
and  smelt  of  the  contents  of  the  tin  cup.  It  did 
not  smell  like  coffee  at  all.  It  tasted  like  a  com 
bination  of  hot  water,  tea,  and  molasses.  He 
waited  until  it  had  cooled,  and  drank  it.  The 
bread  was  not  so  bad.  McAllister  ate  it  all. 


McAllister's   Christmas 

There  was  a  good  deal  of  noise  in  the  cells  now, 
and  outside  he  could  hear  many  feet  coming  and 
going.  Occasionally  a  draught  of  cold  air  would 
flow  in,  and  an  officer  would  tramp  down  the  cor 
ridor  and  remove  one  of  the  occupants  of  the  row. 
His  watch  showed  that  it  was  already  eight  o'clock. 
He  fumbled  in  his  waistcoat-pocket  and  found  a 
very  warped  and  wrinkled  cigar.  His  match-box 
supplied  the  necessary  light,  and  "  Chubby  "  Mc 
Allister  began  to  smoke  his  after-breakfast  Havana 
with  appreciation. 

"  No  smoking  in  the  cells !  "  came  the  rough 
voice  of  the  keeper.  "  Give  us  that  cigar, 
Welch!" 

McAllister  started  to  his  feet. 

"  Hand  it  over,  now!     Quick!  " 

The  clubman  passed  his  cherished  comforter 
through  the  bars,  and  the  keeper,  thrusting  it,  still 
lighted,  into  his  own  mouth,  grinned  at  him, 
winked,  and  walked  away. 

"  Merry  Christmas,  Fatty!  "  he  remarked  ge 
nially  over  his  shoulder. 


Half  an  hour  later  Tom  and  his  "  side  partner  " 
came  to  the  cell-door.  They  were  flushed  with 
victory.  Already  the  morning  papers  contained 

18 


McAllister's  Christmas 

accounts  of  tKe  pursuit  and  startling  arrest  of 
"  Fatty  Welch,"  the  well-known  crook,  who  was 
wanted  in  Pennsylvania  and  elsewhere  on  various 
charges.  Altogether  the  officers  were  in  a  very 
genial  frame  of  mind. 

"  Come  along,  Fatty,"  said  Tom,  helping  the 
clubman  into  his  bedraggled  overcoat.  ;c  We're 
almost  late  for  roll-call,  as  it  is." 

They  left  the  cells  and  entered  the  station-house 
proper,  where  several  officers  with  their  prisoners 
were  waiting. 

"  We'll  take  you  down  to  Fleadquarters  and 
make  sure  we've  got  you  right,"  he  continued.  "  I 
guess  Sheridan'll  know  you  fast  enough  when  he 
sees  you.  Come  on,  boys!"  He  opened  the 
door  and  led  the  way  across  the  sidewalk  to  the 
patrol  wagon,  which  stood  backed  against  the  curb. 

It  was  a  glorious  winter's  day.  The  sharp, 
frosty  air  stimulated  the  clubman's  jaded  senses 
and  gave  him  new  hope ;  he  felt  sure  that  at  head 
quarters  he  would  find  some  person  to  whom  he 
could  safely  confide  the  secret  of  his  identity.  In 
about  ten  minutes  the  wagon  stopped  in  a  narrow 
street,  before  an  inhospitable-looking  building. 

"  Here's  the  old  place,"  remarked  one  of  the 
load  cheerfully.  "  Looks  just  the  same  as  ever. 
Mott  Street's  not  a  mite  different.  And  to  think  I 
ain't  been  here  in  fifteen  years!  " 

19 


McAllister's  Christmas 

All  clambered  out,  and  each  officer,  selecting  his 
prisoners,  convoyed  them  down  a  flight  of  steps, 
through  a  door,  several  feet  below  the  level  of  the 
sidewalk,  and  into  a  small,  stuffy  chamber  full  of 
men  smoking  and  lounging.  Most  of  these  seemed 
to  take  a  friendly  interest  in  the  clubman,  a  few 
accosting  him  by  his  now  familiar  alias. 

Tom  hurried  McAllister  along  a  dark  corridor, 
out  into  a  cold  court-yard,  across  the  cobblestones 
into  another  door,  through  a  hall  lighted  only  by 
a  dim  gas-jet,  and  then  up  a  flight  of  winding  stairs. 
McAllister's  head  whirled.  Then  quickly  they 
were  at  the  top,  and  in  a  huge,  high-ceiled  room 
crowded  with  men  in  civilian  dress.  On  one  side, 
upon  a  platform,  stood  a  nondescript  row  of  pris 
oners,  at  whom  the  throng  upon  the  floor  gazed 
in  silence.  Above  the  heads  of  this  file  of  motley 
individuals  could  be  read  the  gold  lettering  upon 
the  cabinet  behind  them — Rogues'  Gallery.  On 
the  other  side  of  the  room,  likewise  upon  a  plat 
form  and  behind  a  long  desk,  stood  two  officers  in 
uniform,  one  of  them  an  inspector,  engaged  in 
studying  with  the  keenest  attention  the  human 
exhibition  opposite. 

"  Get  up  there,  Fatty!  " 

Before  he  realized  what  had  happened,  McAl 
lister  was  pushed  upon  the  platform  at  the  end  of 
the  line.  His  appearance  created  a  little  wave  of 

20 


McAllister's  Christmas 

excitement,  which  increased  when  his  comrades  of 
the  wagon  joined  him.  It  was  a  peculiar  scene. 
Twenty  men  standing  up  for  inspection,  some  gaz 
ing  unconcernedly  before  them,  some  glaring  defi 
antly  at  their  observers,  and  others  grinning  recog 
nition  at  familiar  faces.  McAllister  grew  cold 
with  fright.  Several  of  the  detectives  pointed  at 
him  and  nodded.  Out  of  the  silence  the  Inspec 
tor's  voice  came  with  the  shock  of  thunder: 

"  Hey,  there,  you,  Sanders,  hold  up  your 
hand!" 

A  short  man  near  the  head  of  the  line  lifted 
his  arm. 

"  Take  off  your  hat." 

The  prisoner  removed  his  head-gear  with  his 
other  hand.  The  Inspector  raised  his  voice  and 
addressed  the  crowd  of  detectives,  who  turned  with 
one  accord  to  examine  the  subject  of  his  discourse. 

"  That's  Biff  Sanders,  con  man  and  all-round 
thief.  Served  two  terms  up  the  river  for  grand 
larceny — last  time  an  eight-year  bit;  that  was  nine 
years  ago.  Take  a  good  look  at  him.  I  want 
you  to  remember  his  face.  Put  your  hat  on." 

Sanders  resumed  his  original  position,  his  face 
expressing  the  most  complete  indifference. 

A  slight,  good-looking  young  man  now  joined 
the  Inspector  and  directed  his  attention  to  the  pris 
oner  next  the  clubman,  the  same  being  he  who  had 

21 


McAllister's  Christmas 

remarked  upon  the  familiar  appearance  of  Mott 
Street. 

"  Hold  up  your  hand!  "  ordered  the  Inspector. 
'You're    Muggins,    aren't   you?     Haven't    been 
here  in  fifteen  years,  have  you?  " 

The  man  smiled. 

'  You're  right,  Inspector,"  he  said.  "  The  last 
time  was  in  '89." 

'That's  Muggins,  burglar  and  sneak;  served 
four  terms  here,  and  then  got  settled  for  life  in 
Louisville  for  murder.  Pardoned  after  he'd 
served  four  years.  Look  at  him." 

Thus  the  curious  proceeding  continued,  each 
man  in  the  line  being  inspected,  recognized,  and 
his  record  and  character  described  by  the  Inspec 
tor  to  the  assembled  bureau  of  detectives.  No 
other  voice  was  heard  save  the  harsh  tones  of  some 
prisoner  in  reply. 

Then  the  Inspector  looked  at  McAllister. 

"  Welch,  hold  up  your  hand." 

McAllister  shuddered.  If  he  refused,  he  knew 
not  what  might  happen  to  him.  He  had  heard 
of  the  horrors  of  the  "  Third  Degree,"  and  asso 
ciated  it  with  starvation,  the  rack,  and  all  kinds 
of  brutality.  They  might  set  upon  him  in  a  body. 
He  might  be  mobbed,  beaten,  strangled.  And  yet, 
if  he  obeyed,  would  it  not  be  a  public  admission 
that  he  was  the  mysterious  and  elusive  Welch? 

22 


McAllister's   Christmas 

Would  it  not  bind  the  chains  more  firmly  about  him 
and  render  explanation  all  the  more  difficult? 

"  Do  you  hear?  Hold  up  your  hand,  and  be 
quick  about  it!  " 

His  hand  went  up  of  its  own  accord. 

The  Inspector  cleared  his  throat  and  rapped 
upon  the  railing. 

"  Take  a  good  look  at  this  man.  He's  Fatty 
Welch,  one  of  the  cleverest  thieves  in  the  coun 
try.  Does  a  little  of  everything.  Began  as  a 
valet  to  a  clubman  in  this  city.  He  got  settled  for 
stealing  a  valuable  pin  about  three  years  ago,  and 
served  a  short  term  up  the  river.  Since  then  he's 
been  all  over.  His  game  is  to  secure  employment 
in  fashionable  houses  as  butler  or  servant  and  then 
get  away  with  the  jewelry.  He's  wanted  for  a  big 
job  down  in  Pennsylvania.  Take  a  good  look  at 
him.  When  he  gets  out  we  don't  want  him  around 
these  parts.  I'd  like  you  precinct-men  to  remem 
ber  him." 

The  detectives  crowded  near  to  get  a  close  view 
of  the  interesting  criminal.  One  or  two  of  them 
made  notes  in  memorandum  books.  The  slender 
man  had  a  hasty  conference  with  the  Inspector. 

"  The  officer  who  has  Welch,  take  him  up  to  the 
gallery  and  then  bring  him  down  to  the  record 
room,"  directed  the  Inspector. 

"  Get  down,  Fatty!  "  commanded  Tom.  Mc- 
23 


McAllister's  Christmas 

Allister,  stupefied  with  horror,  embarrassment,  and 
apprehension  of  the  possibilities  in  store  for  him, 
stepped  down  and  followed  like  a  somnambulist. 
As  they  made  their  way  to  the  elevator  he  could 
hear  the  strident  voice  of  the  Inspector  beginning 
again  : 

'  This  is  Pat  Hogan,  otherwise  known  as 
'  Paddy  the  Sneak,'  and  his  side  partner,  Jim 
Hawkins,  who  goes  under  the  name  of  James  Haw- 
kinson.  His  pals  call  him  '  Supple  Jim.'  Two 
of  the  cleverest  sneaks  in  the  country.  They 
branch  out  into  strong  arm  work  occasionally." 

The  elevator  began  to  ascend. 
'  You  seem  kinder  down,"  commented  Tom. 
u  I  suppose  you  expect  to  get  settled  for  quite  a  bit 
down  to  Philadelphia,  eh?     Well,  don't  talk  unless 
you  feel  like  it.     Here  we  are !  " 

They  got  out  upon  an  upper  floor  and  crossed  the 
hall.  On  their  left  a  matron  was  arranging  rows 
of  tiny  chairs  in  a  small  school-room  or  nursery. 
At  any  other  time  the  Lost  Children's  Room  might 
have  aroused  a  flicker  of  interest  in  McAllister,  but 
he  felt  none  whatever  in  it  now.  Tom  opened  a 
door  and  pushed  the  clubman  gently  into  a  small, 
low-ceiled  chamber.  Charts  and  diagrams  of  the 
human  cranium  hung  on  one  wall,  while  a  score 
of  painted  eyes,  each  of  a  different  color,  and 
each  bearing  a  technical  appellation  and  a  number, 

24 


McAllister's   Christmas 

stared  from  the  other.  Upon  a  small  square  plat 
form,  about  eight  inches  in  height,  stood  a  half- 
clad  Italian  congealed  with  terror  and  expecting 
momentarily  to  receive  a  shock  of  electricity.  The 
slender  young  man  was  rapidly  measuring  his 
hands  and  feet  and  calling  out  the  various  dimen 
sions  to  an  assistant,  who  recorded  them  upon  a 
card.  This  accomplished,  he  ordered  his  victim 
down  from  the  block,  seated  him  unceremoniously 
in  a  chair,  and  with  a  pair  of  shining  instruments 
gauged  the  depth  of  his  skull  from  front  to  rear, 
its  width  between  the  cheekbones,  and  the  length 
of  the  ears,  describing  all  the  while  the  other 
features  in  brief  terms  to  his  associate. 

"  Now  off  with  you!  "  he  ejaculated.  "  Here, 
lug  this  Greaser  in  and  mug  him." 

The  officer  in  the  case  haled  the  Italian,  shriek 
ing,  into  another  room. 

"  Ah,  Fatty!  "  remarked  the  slender  man.  "  I 
trust  you  won't  object  to  these  little  formalities? 
Take  off  that  left  shoe,  if  you  please." 

McAllister's  soul  had  shrivelled  within  him. 
His  powers  of  thought  had  been  annihilated. 
Mechanically  he  removed  the  shoe  in  question  and 
placed  his  foot  upon  the  block.  The  young  man 
quickly  measured  it. 

"  Now  get  up  there  and  rest  your  hand  on  the 
board." 

25 


McAllister's   Christmas 

McAllister  observed  that  the  table  bore  the 
painted  outline  of  a  human  hand.  He  did  as  he 
was  told  unquestioningly.  The  other  measured 
his  forefinger  and  the  length  of  his  forearm. 

"  All  right.  Now  sit  down  and  let  me  tickle 
your  head  for  a  moment." 

The  operator  took  the  silver  calipers  which  had 
just  been  used  upon  the  Italian  and  ran  them 
thoughtfully  forward  and  back  above  the  club 
man's  organs  of  hearing. 

"  By  George,  you've  got  a  big  head!  "  remarked 
the  measurer.  "  Prominent,  Roman  nose.  No.  4 
eyes.  Thank  you.  Just  step  into  the  next  room, 
will  you,  and  be  mugged?  " 

McAllister  drew  on  his  shoe  and  followed  Tom 
into  the  adjoining  chamber  of  horrors. 

"  No  tricks,  now !  "  commented  the  officer  in 
charge  of  the  instrument. 

Snap !  went  the  camera. 

"  Turn  sideways." 

Snap! 

"  That's  all." 

The  clubman  staggered  to  his  feet.  He  entirely 
failed  to  appreciate  the  extent  of  the  indignity 
which  had  been  practised  upon  him.  It  was  hours 
before  he  realized  that  he  had  actually  been  meas 
ured  and  photographed  as  a  criminal,  and  that,  to 
his  dying  hour  and  beyond,  these  insignia  of  his 

26 


McAllister's   Christmas 

shame  would  remain  locked  in  the  custody  of  the 
police. 

"  Where  now?  "  he  asked. 

"  Time  to  go  over  to  court,"  answered  Tom. 
"  The  wagon'll  be  waitin'  for  us.  But  first  we'll 
drop  in  on  Sheridan — record-room  man,  you 
know." 

"  Isn't  there  some  way  I  can  see  the  Commis 
sioner?  "  inquired  McAllister. 

Tom  burst  into  a  roar  of  laughter. 

"  You  have  got  a  gall !  "  he  commented,  thump 
ing  his  prisoner  good-naturedly  in  the  middle  of 
the  back.  "  The  Commissioner !  Ho-ho !  That's 
a  good  one!  I  guess  we'll  have  to  make  it  the 
Warden.  Come  on,  now,  and  quit  yer  joshin'." 

Once  more  they  entered  the  main  room,  where 
the  detectives  were  congregated.  The  Inspector 
was  still  at  it.  There  had  been  a  big  haul  the  night 
before.  He  intended  running  all  the  crooks  out 
of  town  by  New  Year's  Day.  Tom  shoved  Mc 
Allister  through  the  crush,  across  an  adjoining 
room  and  finally  into  a  tiny  office.  A  young  man 
with  a  genial  countenance  was  sitting  at  a  desk  by 
the  single  window.  He  looked  up  as  they  crossed 
the  threshold. 

"Hello,  Welch!  How  goes  it?  Let's  see, 
how  long  is  it  since  you  were  here?  " 

Somehow  this  quiet,  gentlemanly  fellow  with  his 
27 


McAllister's  Christmas 

confident  method  of  address,  telling  you  just  who 
you  were,  irritated  McAllister  to  the  explosive 
point. 

"  I'm  not  Welch!  "  he  cried  indignantly. 

41  Ha-ha !  "  laughed  Mr.  Sheridan.  "  Pray  who 
are  you?  " 

"  You'll  find  out  soon  enough!  "  answered  Mc 
Allister  sullenly. 

"  Look  here,"  remarked  the  other,  "  don't  im 
agine  you  can  bluff  us.  If  you  think  you  are  not 
Welch,  perhaps  I  can  persuade  you  to  change  your 
mind." 

He  turned  to  an  officer  who  stood  in  the  door 
way  of  a  large  vault. 

"  Bring  2,208,  if  you  please." 

The  officer  pulled  out  a  drawer,  removed  a  long 
linen  envelope,  and  spread  out  its  contents  upon  the 
desk.  These  were  fifteen  or  twenty  newspaper 
clippings,  at  least  one  of  which  was  embellished 
with  an  evil-looking  wood-cut. 

"  Let's  see,"  continued  Mr.  Sheridan.  "  You 
began  with  a  year  up  the  river.  Took  a  pearl  pin 
from  a  man  named  McAllister.  Then  you  turned 
several  tricks  in  Chicago,  St.  Louis,  Buffalo  and 
Philadelphia,  and  got  away  with  it  every  time. 
Have  we  got  you  right?  " 

McAllister  ground  his  teeth. 

'  You  have  not !  "  said  he. 
28 


McAllister's  Christmas 

"  Look  at  yourself,"  continued  the  other. 
"  There's  your  face.  You  can't  deny  it.  I  won 
der  the  Inspector  didn't  have  you  measured  and 
photographed  the  first  time  you  were  settled.  Still, 
the  picture's  enough." 

He  handed  the  clubman  a  newspaper  clipping 
containing  a  visage  which  undeniably  resembled 
the  features  which  the  latter  saw  daily  in  his  mir 
ror.  McAllister  wearily  shook  his  head. 

"  Well,"  said  the  expert,  "  of  course  you  don't 
have  to  tell  us  anything  unless  you  want  to. 
We've  got  you  right — that's  enough." 

He  pushed  the  clippings  back  into  the  envelope, 
handed  it  to  the  officer,  and  turned  away. 

"  Come  on!  "  ordered  Tom. 

Once  more  McAllister  and  his  mentor  availed 
themselves  of  the  only  free  transportation  offered 
by  the  city  government,  that  of  the  patrol  wagon, 
and  were  soon  deposited  at  the  side  entrance  of  the 
Jefferson  Market  police  court.  A  group  of  curious 
idlers  watched  their  descent  and  disappearance 
into  what  must  have  at  all  times  seemed  to  them  a 
concrete  and  ever-present  temporal  Avernus.  The 
why  and  wherefore  of  these  erratic  trips  were,  of 
course,  unknown  to  McAllister.  Presumably  he 
must  be  some  rara  avis  of  crime  whose  feet  had 
been  caught  inadvertently  in  the  limed  twig  set 
by  the  official  fowler  for  more  homely  poultry. 

29 


McAllister's  Christmas 

Fatty  Welch,  whoever  he  might  be,  apparently 
enjoyed  the  respect  incident  to  success  in  any  line 
of  human  endeavor.  It  seemed  likewise  that  his 
presence  was  much  desired  in  the  sister  city  of 
Philadelphia,  in  which  direction  the  clubman  had 
a  vague  fear  of  being  unwillingly  transported.  He 
did  not,  of  course,  realize  that  he  was  held  pri 
marily  as  a  violator  of  the  law  of  his  own  State, 
and  hence  must  answer  to  the  charge  in  the  mag 
istrate's  court  nearest  the  locus  of  his  supposed 
offence. 

Inside  the  station  house  Tom  held  a  few 
moments'  converse  with  one  of  its  grizzled  guar 
dians,  and  then  led  our  hero  along  a  passage 
and  opened  a  door.  But  here  McAllister  shrank 
back.  It  was  his  first  sight  of  that  great  cosmo 
politan  institution,  the  police  court.  Before  him 
lay  the  scene  of  which  he  had  so  often  read  in  the 
newspapers.  The  big  room  with  its  Gothic  win 
dows  was  filled  to  overflowing  with  every  variety 
of  the  human  species,  who  not  only  taxed  the  seat 
ing  capacity  of  the  benches  to  the  utmost,  but  near 
the  doors  were  packed  into  a  solid,  impenetrable 
mass.  Upon  a  platform  behind  a  desk  a  square- 
jawed  man  with  chin-whiskers  disposed  rapidly  of 
the  file  of  defendants  brought  before  him. 

A  long  line  of  officers,  each  with  one  or  more 
prisoners,  stood  upon  the  judge's  left,  and  as  fast 

30 


McAllister's  Christmas 

as  the  business  of  one  was  concluded  the  next 
pushed  forward.  McAllister  perceived  that  at 
best  only  a  few  moments  could  elapse  before  he 
was  brought  to  face  the  charge  against  him,  and 
that  he  must  make  up  his  mind  quickly  what  course 
of  action  to  pursue.  As  he  stepped  down  from 
the  doorway  there  was  a  perceptible  flutter  among 
the  spectators.  Several  hungry-looking  men  with 
note-books  opened  them  and  poised  their  pencils 
expectantly. 

Tom,  having  handed  over  McAllister  to  the 
temporary  care  of  a  brother  officer,  lost  no  time  in 
locating  his  complainant,  that  is  to  say,  the  gentle 
man  whose  house  our  hero  was  charged  with  hav 
ing  burglariously  entered.  The  two  then  sought 
out  the  clerk,  who  seemed  to  be  holding  a  sort  of 
little  preliminary  court  of  his  own,  and  who,  under 
the  officer's  instruction,  drew  up  some  formal  docu 
ment  to  which  the  complainant  signed  his  name. 
McAllister  was  now  brought  before  this  official 
and  briefly  informed  that  anything  he  might  say 
would  be  used  against  him  at  his  trial.  He  was 
then  interrogated,  as  before,  in  regard  to  his  name, 
age,  residence,  and  occupation,  but  with  the  same 
result.  Indeed,  no  answers  seemed  to  be  expected 
under  the  circumstances,  and  the  clerk,  having  writ 
ten  something  upon  the  paper,  waved  them  aside. 
Nothing,  however,  of  these  proceedings  had  been 


McAllister's   Christmas 

lost  to  the  reporters,  who  escorted  Tom  and  Mc 
Allister  to  the  end  of  the  line  of  officers,  worrying 
the  former  for  information  as  to  his  prisoner's 
origin  and  past  performances.  But  Tom  mo 
tioned  them  off  with  the  papers  which  he  held  in 
his  hand,  bidding  them  await  the  final  action  of 
the  magistrate.  Nobody  seemed  particularly  un 
friendly;  in  fact,  an  air  of  general  good-fellowship 
pervaded  the  entire  routine  going  on  around  them. 
What  impressed  the  clubman  most  was  the  persist 
ence  and  omnipresence  of  the  reporters. 

"  I  must  get  time !  "  thought  McAllister.  "  I 
must  get  time!  " 

One  after  another  the  victims  of  the  varied  de 
lights  of  too  much  Christmas  jubilation  were  dis 
posed  of.  Fatty  Welch  was  the  only  real  "  gun  " 
that  had  been  taken.  He  had  the  arena  practically 
to  himself.  Now  only  one  case  intervened.  He 
braced  himself  and  tried  to  steady  his  nerves. 

"Next!     What's  this?" 

McAllister  was  thrust  down  below  the  bridge 
facing  the  bench,  and  Tom  began  hastily  to  de 
scribe  the  circumstances  of  the  arrest. 

"Fatty  Welch?"  interrupted  the  magistrate. 
"  Oh,  yes !  I  read  about  it  in  the  morning  papers. 
Chased  off  in  a  cab,  didn't  he?  You  shot  the 
horse,  and  his  partner  got  away  ?  Wanted  in  Penn 
sylvania  and  Illinois,  you  say?  That's  enough." 

32 


McAllister's   Christmas 

Then  looking  down  at  McAllister,  who  stood  be 
fore  him  in  bespattered  dress  suit  and  fragmentary 
linen,  he  inquired: 

"  Have  you  counsel?  " 

McAllister  made  no  answer.  If  he  proclaimed 
who  he  was  and  demanded  an  immediate  hearing, 
the  harpies  of  the  press  would  fill  the  papers  with 
full  accounts  of  his  episode.  His  incognito  must 
be  preserved  at  any  cost.  Whatever  action  he 
might  decide  to  take,  this  was  not  the  time  and 
place;  a  better  opportunity  would  undoubtedly 
present  itself  later  in  the  day. 

"  You  are  charged  with  the  crime  of  burglary," 
continued  the  Judge,  "  and  it  is  further  alleged  that 
you  are  a  fugitive  from  justice  in  two  other  States. 
What  have  you  to  say  for  yourself?  " 

McAllister  sought  the  Judge's  eye  in  vain. 

"  I  have  nothing  to  say,"  he  replied  faintly. 
There  was  a  renewed  scratching  of  pens. 

The  Judge  conferred  with  the  clerk  for  a  mo 
ment. 

"Any  question  of  the  prisoner's  identity?"  he 
asked. 

"  Oh,  no,"  replied  Tom  conclusively.  "  The 
fact  is,  yer  onner,  we  took  him  by  accident,  as 
you  may  say.  We  laid  a  plant  for  a  feller  doin' 
second-story  work  on  the  avenoo,  and  when  we 
nabbed  him,  who  should  it  be  but  Welch !  Ye  see, 

33 


McAllister's  Christmas 

they  wired  on  his  description  from  Philadelphia 
a  couple  of  weeks  ago,  but  we  couldn't  find  hide 
or  hair  of  him  in  the  city,  and  had  about  give  up 
lookin'.  Then,  quite  unexpected,  we  scoops  him 
in.  Here's  his  indentity,"  handing  the  Judge  a 
soiled  telegraph  blank.  "  It's  him,  all  right,"  he 
added  with  a  grin. 

The  magistrate  glanced  at  the  form  and  at  Mc 
Allister. 

"  Seems  to  fit,"  he  commented.  "  Have  you 
looked  for  the  scar?  " 

Tom  laughed. 

"  Sure !  I  seen  it  when  he  was  gettin'  his  meas 
urements  took,  down  to  headquarters." 

"  Turn  around,  Welch,  and  let's  see  your  back," 
directed  the  magistrate. 

The  clubman  turned  around  and  displayed  his 
collarless  neck. 

"  There  it  is !  "  exclaimed  Tom. 

McAllister  mechanically  put  his  hand  to  his  neck 
and  turned  faint.  He  had  had  in  his  childhood  an 
almost  forgotten  fall,  and  the  scar  was  still  there. 
He  experienced  a  genuine  thrill  of  horror. 

"  Well,"  continued  the  magistrate,  "  the  pris 
oner  is  entitled  to  counsel,  and,  besides,  I  am  sure 
that  the  complainant,  Mr.  Brown,  has  no  desire 
to  be  delayed  here  on  Christmas  Day.  I  will  set 
the  hearing  for  ten  o'clock  to-morrow  morning,  at 

34 


McAllister's  Christmas 

the  Tombs  police  court.  I  shall  be  sitting  there 
for  Judge  Mason  the  rest  of  the  week,  beginning 
to-morrow,  and  will  take  the  case  along  with  me. 
You  might  suggest  to  the  Warden  that  it  would  be 
more  convenient  to  send  the  prisoner  down  to  the 
Tombs,  so  that  there  need  be  no  delay." 

The  complainant  bowed,  and  the  officer  at  the 
bridge  slapped  McAllister  not  unkindly  upon  the 
back. 

"  You'll  need  a  pretty  good  lawyer,"  he  re 
marked  with  a  wink. 

"  Next!  "  ordered  the  Judge. 

In  the  patrol  wagon  McAllister  had  ample  time 
for  reflection.  A  motley  collection  of  tramps, 
"  disorderlies,"  and  petty  law-breakers  filled  the 
seats  and  crowded  the  aisle.  They  all  talked  and 
joked,  swinging  from  side  to  side  and  clutching 
at  one  another  for  support  with  harsh  outbursts  of 
profanity,  as  they  rattled  down  the  deserted  streets 
toward  New  York's  Bastile  Staggering  for  a 
foot-hold,  between  four  women  of  the  town,  Mc 
Allister  was  forced  to  breathe  the  fumes  of  alcohol, 
the  odor  of  musk,  and  the  aroma  of  foul  linen. 
He  no  longer  felt  innocent.  The  sense  of  guilt 
was  upon  him.  He  seemed  part  and  parcel  of  this 
load  of  miserable  humanity. 

The  wagon  clattered  over  the  cobblestones  of 
Elm  Street,  and  whirling  round,  backed  up  to  the 

35 


McAllister's   Christmas 

door  of  the  Tombs.  The  low,  massive  Egyptian 
structure,  surrounded  by  a  high  stone  wall,  seemed 
like  a  gigantic  mortuary  vault  waiting  to  receive 
the  "  civilly  dead."  Warden  and  keepers  were 
ready  for  the  prisoners,  who  were  now  uncere 
moniously  bundled  out  and  hustled  inside.  Mc 
Allister  stood  with  the  others  in  a  small  anteroom 
leading  directly  into  the  lowest  tier.  He  could 
hear  the  ceaseless  shuffling  of  feet  and  the  subdued 
murmur  of  voices,  rising  and  falling,  but  continu 
ous,  like  the  twittering  of  a  multitude  of  birds, 
while  through  the  bars  came  the  fetid  prison  smell, 
with  a  new  and  disagreeable  element — the  odor  of 
prison  food. 

"  Keepin'  your  mouth  shut?  "  remarked  the  dep 
uty  to  McAllister,  as  he  entered  the  words  "  Pris 
oner  refuses  to  answer,"  and  blotted  them. 

"  We're  rather  crowded  just  now,"  he  added 
apologetically.  "  I  guess  I'll  send  you  to  Mur 
derer's  Row.  Holloa,  there !  "  he  called  to  some 
one  above,  "  one  for  the  first  tier!  " 

A  keeper  seized  the  clubman  by  the  arm,  opened 
a  door  in  the  steel  grating,  and  pushed  him 
through.  "  Go  'long  up!  "  he  ordered. 

McAllister  started  wearily  up  the  stairs.  At 
the  top  of  the  flight  he  came  to  another  door, 
behind  which  stood  another  keeper.  In  the  back 
ground  marched  in  ceaseless  procession  an  irregular 

36 


McAllister's   Christmas 

file  of  men.  In  the  gloom  they  looked  like  ghosts. 
Aimlessly  they  walked  on,  one  behind  the  other, 
most  of  them  with  eyes  downcast,  wordless,  taking 
that  exercise  of  the  body  which  the  law  prescribed. 

McAllister  entered  The  Den  of  Beasts. 

"  All  right,  Jimmy !  "  yelled  the  keeper  to  the 
deputy  warden  below.  Then,  turning  to  McAllis 
ter.  "  I'm  goin'  to  put  you  in  with  Davidson. 
He's  quiet,  and  won't  bother  you  if  you  let  him 
alone.  Better  give  him  whichever  berth  he  feels 
like.  Them  double-decker  cots  is  just  as  good  on 
top  as  they  is  below." 

McAllister  followed  the  keeper  down  the  nar 
row  gangway  that  ran  around  the  prison.  In  the 
stone  corridor  below  a  great  iron  stove  glowed  red- 
hot,  and  its  fumes  rose  and  mingled  with  the 
tainted  air  that  floated  out  from  every  cell. 
Above  him  rose  tier  on  tier,  illuminated  only  by 
the  gray  light  which  filtered  through  a  grimy  win 
dow  at  one  end  of  the  prison.  The  arrangement 
of  cells,  the  "  bridges "  that  joined  the  tiers, 
and  the  murky  atmosphere,  heightened  the  resem 
blance  to  the  "  'tween  decks "  of  an  enormous 
slaver,  bearing  them  all  away  to  some  distant  port 
of  servitude. 

"  Get  up  there,  Jake !  Here's  a  bunkie  for 
you." 

McAllister  bent  his  head  and  entered.  He  was 
37 


McAllister's   Christmas 

standing  beside  a  two-story  cot  bed,  in  a  compart 
ment  about  six  by  eight  feet  square.  A  faint  light 
came  from  a  narrow,  horizontal  slit  in  the  rear 
wall.  A  faucet  with  tin  basin  completed  the  con 
tents  of  the  room.  On  the  top  bunk  lay  a  man's 
soiled  coat  and  waistcoat,  the  feet  of  the  owner 
being  discernible  below. 

The  keeper  locked  the  door  and  departed,  while 
the  occupant  of  the  berth,  rolling  lazily  over, 
peered  up  at  the  new-comer;  then  he  sprang  from 
the  cot. 

"  Mr.  McAllister!  "  he  whispered  hoarsely. 

It  was  Wilkins — the  old  Wilkins,  in  spite  of  a 
new  light-brown  beard. 

For  a  few  moments  neither  spoke. 

"  Sorry  to  see  you  'ere,  sir,"  said  Wilkins  at 
length,  in  his  old  respectful  tones.  "  Won't  you 
sit  down,  sir?  " 

McAllister  seated  himself  upon  the  bed  auto 
matically. 

"  You  here,  Wilkins?  "  he  managed  to  say. 

Wilkins  laughed  rather  bitterly. 

"  I've  been  in  stir  a  good  part  of  the  time  since 
I  left  you,  sir;  an'  two  weeks  ago  I  pleaded  guilty 
to  larceny  and  was  sentenced  to  one  year  more. 
But  I'm  glad  to  see  you  lookin'  so  well,  if  you'll 
pardon  me,  sir." 

"  I'm  sorry  for  you,  Wilkins,"  the  master  man- 
38 


McAllister's  Christmas 

aged  to  reply.     "  I  hope  my  severity  in  that  matter 
of  the  pin  did  not  bring  you  to  this !  " 

Wilkins  hesitated  for  a  moment. 

"  It  ain't  your  fault,  sir.  I  was  born  crooked, 
I  fancy,  sir.  It's  all  right.  You've  got  troubles 
of  your  own.  Only — you'll  excuse  me,  sir — I 
never  suspected  anything  when  I  was  in  your  ser 
vice." 

McAllister  did  not  grasp  the  meaning  of  this 
remark;  he  only  felt  relief  that  Wilkins  apparently 
bore  him  no  ill-will.  Very  few  of  his  friends 
would  have  followed  up  a  theft  of  that  sort. 
They  expected  their  men  to  steal  their  pins. 

"  Mebbe  I  might  'elp  you.  Wot's  the  charge, 
sir?  " 

With  his  former  valet  as  a  sympathetic  listener, 
McAllister  poured  out  his  whole  story,  omitting 
nothing,  and,  as  he  finished,  leaned  forward, 
searching  eagerly  the  other's  face. 

"  Now,  what  shall  I  do?  What  shall  I  do, 
Wilkins?" 

The  latter  coughed  deprecatingly. 

"  You'll  pardon  me,  but  that'll  never  go,  sir ! 
You'll  have  to  get  somethin'  better  than  that,  sir. 
The  jury  will  never  believe  it." 

McAllister  sprang  to  his  feet,  in  so  doing  knock 
ing  his  head  against  the  iron  support  of  the  upper 
cot. 

39 


McAllister's  Christmas 

"  How  dare  you,  Wilkins !  What  do  you 
mean?  " 

"There,  there,  sir!"  exclaimed  the  other. 
"  Don't  take  on  so.  Of  course  I  didn't  mean  you 
wouldn't  tell  the  truth,  sir.  But  don't  you  see,  sir, 
hit  isn't  I  as  am  goin'  to  listen  to  it?  Shall  I  fetch 
you  some  water  to  wash  your  face,  sir?  "  He 
turned  on  the  faucet. 

The  clubman,  yielding  to  the  force  of  ancient 
habit,  allowed  Wilkins  to  let  it  run  for  him,  and 
having  washed  his  face  and  combed  his  hair,  felt 
somewhat  refreshed. 

;t  That  feels  good,"  he  remarked,  rubbing  his 
hands  together. 

It  was  obvious  that  so  long  as  he  remained  in 
prison  he  would  be  either  "  Fatty  Welch  "  or  some 
one  else  equally  depraved;  and  since  he  could  not 
make  anyone  understand,  it  seemed  his  best  plan  to 
accept  for  the  time,  with  equanimity,  the  personal 
ity  that  fate  had  thrust  upon  him. 

"  Well,  Wilkins,  we're  in  a  tight  place.  But 
we'll  do  what  we  can  to  assist  each  other.  If  I 
get  out  first  I'll  help  you,  and  vice  versa.  Now, 
what's  the  first  thing  to  be  done?  You  see,  I've 
never  been  here  before." 

"  That's  the  talk,  sir,"  answered  Wilkins. 
"  Now,  first,  who's  your  lawyer?  " 

"  Haven't  any,  yet." 

40 


McAllister's   Christmas 

"  All  depends  on  the  lawyer,"  returned  the 
valet  judicially.  "  Now,  there's  Carter,  and 
Herlihy,  and  Kemp,  all  sharp  fellows,  but  they're 
always  after  you  for  money,  and  then  they're  so 
clever  that  the  jury  is  apt  to  distrust  'em.  The 
best  thing,  I  find,  is  to  get  the  most  respectable 
old  solicitor  you  can — kind  of  genteel,  '  family  ' 
variety,  with  the  goodness  just  stickin'  hout  all 
hover  'im.  'E  creates  a  hatmosphere  of  hinno- 
cence,  and  that's  wot  you  need.  "  One  as  'as  white 
'air  and  can  talk  about  '  this  boy  'ere  '  and  can  lay 
'is  'and  on  yer  shoulder  and  weep.  That's  the  go, 
sir." 

"  I  understand,"  said  McAllister. 

Under  the  guidance  of  his  valet  our  hero  secured 
writing  materials  and  indicted  a  pitiful  appeal  to 
his  family  lawyer. 

A  gong  rang;  the  squad  of  prisoners  who  had 
been  exercising  went  back  to  their  cells,  and  the 
keeper  came  and  unlocked  the  door. 

McAllister  stepped  out  and  fell  into  line.  His 
tight  clothes  proved  very  uncomfortable  as  he 
strode  round  the  tiers,  and  the  absence  of  a  collar 
— yes,  that  was  really  the  most  unpleasant  feature. 
His  neck  was  not  much  to  boast  of,  therefore  he 
always  wore  his  shirts  low  and  his  collars  high. 
Now,  as  he  stumbled  along,  he  was  the  object  of 
considerable  attention  from  his  fellows. 


McAllister's   Christmas 

At  the  end  of  an  hour  another  gong  sounded. 
In  a  moment  the  tiers  were  empty;  fifty  doors 
clanged  to. 

"Well,  Wilkins?" 

"  Being  as  this  is  Sunday,  sir,  we  'ave  a  few 
hours'  service.  Church  of  England  first,  then  City 
Mission.  We're  not  hallowed  to  talk,  but  if  you 
don't  mind  the  'owlin'  you  can  snatch  a  wink  o' 
sleep.  Christmas  dinner  at  twelve.  Old  Bur- 
ridge,  the  trusty,  was  a-tellin'  me  as  'ow  it's  hex- 
cellent,  sir !  " 

McAllister  looked  at  his  watch  in  despair.  It 
was  only  a  quarter  past  ten.  He  had  not  been  to 
church  for  fifteen  years,  but  evidently  he  was  in  for 
it  now.  Following  his  former  valet's  example,  he 
took  off  his  shoes  and  stretched  himself  upon  the 
cot. 

On  and  on  in  never-varying  tones  dragged  the 
service.  The  preacher  held  the  key  to  the  situa 
tion.  His  congregation  could  not  escape;  he  had 
a  full  house,  and  he  was  bent  on  making  the  most 
of  it. 

The  hands  of  McAllister's  watch  crept  slowly 
round  to  five  minutes  before  eleven. 

When  at  last  the  preacher  stopped,  carefully 
folded  his  manuscript,  and  pronounced  the  bene 
diction,  a  prolonged  sigh  of  relief  eddied  through 
the  Tombs.  Men  were  waking  on  all  sides; 

42 


McAllister's   Christmas 

cots  creaked;  there  was  a  general  and  contagious 
yawn. 

Again  the  gong  rang,  and  with  it  the  smell  of 
food  floated  up  along  the  tiers.  McAllister  real 
ized  that  he  was  hungry — not  mildly,  as  he  was  at 
the  club,  but  ravenous,  as  he  had  never  been  before. 
Presently  the  longed-for  food  came,  borne  by  a 
"  trusty  "  in  new  white  uniform.  Wilkins,  who 
had  been  making  a  meagre  toilet  at  the  faucet, 
took  in  the  dinner  through  the  door — two  tin  plates 
piled  high  with  turkey  and  chicken,  flanked  by 
heaps  of  potato  and  carrots,  and  one  whole  apple 
pie! 

"  Ha !  "  thought  McAllister,  "  I  was  not  so  far 
wrong  about  this  part  of  it!  "  The  chicken  was 
perhaps  not  of  the  variety  known  as  "  spring  " ; 
but  neither  master  nor  man  noticed  it  as  they 
feasted,  sitting  side  by  side  upon  the  cot. 

"  Carrots!  "  philosophized  McAllister,  looking 
regretfully  at  his  empty  tin  plate.  "  Now,  I 
thought  only  horses  ate  carrots ;  and  really,  they're 
not  bad  at  all.  I  should  like  some  more.  Er — 
Wilkins!  Can  we  get  some  more  carrots?  " 

Wilkins  shook  his  head  mournfully. 

"  Message  for  34!     Message  for  34!  " 

A  letter  was  thrust  through  the  bars. 

McAllister  tore  it  open  with  feverish  haste,  and 
recognized  the  crabbed  hand  of  old  Mr.  Potter. 

43 


McAllister's   Christmas 

2   East  Seventy-First  Street. 
F.    Welch,  Esq. 

Sir :  The  remarkable  letter  just  delivered  to  me,  signed  by  a 
name  which  you  request  me  not  to  use  in  my  reply,  has  re 
ceived  careful  consideration.  I  telephoned  to  Mr.  Me 's 

rooms,  and  was  informed  by  his  valet  that  that  gentleman  had 
gone  to  the  country  to  visit  friends  over  Christmas.  I  have 
therefore  directed  the  messenger  to  collect  from  yourself  his  fee 
for  delivering  this  answer.  Yours,  etc., 

EBENEZER  POTTER. 

"That  fool  Frazier!  "  groaned  McAllister. 
"  How  the  devil  could  he  have  thought  I  had  gone 
away?  "  Then  he  remembered  that  he  had  di 
rected  the  valet  to  pack  his  bags  and  send  them  to 
the  station,  in  anticipation  of  the  Winthrops'  invi 
tation. 

He  was  at  his  wits'  end. 

"  How  do  you  get  bail,  Wilkins?  " 

"  You  'ave  to  find  someone  as  owns  real  estate 
in  the  city,  sir,  to  go  on  your  bond.  'Ow  much 
is  it?" 

"  Five  thousand  dollars,"  replied  McAllister. 

"  'Oly  Moses!  "  ejaculated  the  valet.  He  re 
garded  his  former  master  with  renewed  in 
terest. 

But  the  dinner  had  wrought  a  change  in  that 
hitherto  subdued  individual.  With  a  valet  and 
running  water  he  was  beginning  to  feel  his  oats 
a  little.  He  checked  off  mentally  the  names  of 

44 


McAllister's   Christmas 

his  acquaintances.  There  was  not  one  left  in 
town. 

He  repressed  a  yawn,  and  looked  at  his  watch. 
One  o'clock.  Just  then  the  gong  rang  again. 

"  What  in  thunder  is  this,  now?  " 

"  Afternoon  service,  sir.  City  Mission  from 
one  to  two-thirty." 

"  Ye  gods!  "  ejaculated  McAllister. 

A  band  of  young  girls  came  and  stood  with  their 
hymn-books  along  the  opposite  tier,  while  a  Pres 
byterian  clergyman  took  the  place  on  the  bridge 
recently  vacated  by  his  Episcopal  brother.  Pray 
ers  alternated  with  hymns  until  the  sermon,  which 
lasted  sixty-five  minutes. 

McAllister,  almost  desperate,  fretted  and  fumed 
until  half  past  two,  when  the  choir  and  missionary 
finally  departed. 

"  Only  a  'arf  'our,  sir,  an'  we  can  get  some  more 
hexercise,"  said  Wilkins  encouragingly. 

But  McAllister  did  not  want  exercise.  He 
swung  to  his  feet,  and  peering  disconsolately 
through  the  bars  was  suddenly  confronted  by  an 
anaemic  young  woman  holding  an  armful  of 
flowers.  Before  he  could  efface  himself  she  smiled 
sweetly  at  him. 

"  My  poor  man,"  she  began  confidently,  "  how 
sorry  I  am  for  you  this  beautiful  Christmas  Day! 
Please  take  some  of  these;  they  will  brighten  up 

45 


McAllister's   Christmas 

your  cell  wonderfully;  and  they  are  so  fragrant." 
She  pushed  a  dozen  carnations  and  asters  through 
the  bars. 

McAllister,  utterly  dumfounded,  took  them. 

"  What  is  your  name?  "  continued  the  maiden. 

"Welch!  "  blurted  out  our  bewildered  friend. 

There  was  a  stifled  snort  from  the  bunk  be 
hind. 

"  Good-by,  Welch.  I  know  you  are  not  really 
bad.  Won't  you  shake  hands  with  me?  " 

She  thrust  her  hand  through  the  bars,  and  Mc 
Allister  gave  it  a  perfunctory  shake. 

"  Good-by,"  she  murmured,  and  passed  on. 

"  Lawd!  "  exploded  Wilkins,  rolling  from  side 
to  side  upon  his  cot.     "  O  Lawd !  O  Lawd !  O — 
and  he  held  his  sides  while  McAllister  stuck  the 
carnations  into  the  wash-basin. 

The  gong  again,  and  once  more  that  endless 
tramp  along  the  hot  tiers.  The  prison  grew 
darker.  Gas-jets  were  lighted  here  and  there,  and 
the  air  became  more  and  more  oppressive.  With 
five  o'clock  came  supper;  then  the  long,  weary 
night. 

Next  morning  the  valet  seemed  nervous  and  ex 
cited,  eating  little  breakfast,  and  smiling  from  time 
to  time  vaguely  to  himself.  Having  fumbled  in 
his  pocket,  he  at  last  pulled  out  a  dirty  pawn-ticket, 
which  he  held  toward  his  master. 

46 


McAllister's  Christmas 

"  'Ere,  sir,"  he  said  with  averted  head.  "  It's 
for  the  pin.  I'm  sorry  I  took  it." 

McAllister's  eyes  were  a  little  blurred  as  he  me 
chanically  received  the  card-board. 

"  Shake  hands,  Wilkins,"  was  all  he  said. 

A  keeper  came  walking  along  the  tier  rattling 
the  doors  and  telling  those  who  were  wanted  in 
court  to  get  ready. 

"  Good-by,"  said  McAllister.  "  I'm  sorry  you 
felt  obliged  to  plead  guilty.  I  might  have  helped 
you  if  I'd  only  known.  Why  didn't  you  stand 
your  trial?  " 

"  I  'ad  my  reasons,"  replied  the  valet.  "  I 
wanted  to  get  my  case  disposed  of  as  quick  as  pos 
sible.  You  see,  I'd  been  livin'  in  Philadelphia, 
and  'ad  just  come  to  New  York  when  I  was  har- 
rested.  I  didn't  want  'em  to  find  out  who  I  was 
or  where  I  come  from,  so  I  just  gives  the  name  of 
Davidson,  and  takes  my  dose." 

"  Well,"  said  McAllister,  "  you're  taking  your 
own  dose;  I'm  taking  somebody  else's.  That 
hardly  seems  a  fair  deal — now  does  it,  Wilkins? 
But,  of  course,  you  don't  know  but  that  I  am 
Welch." 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  do,  sir!  "  returned  the  valet.  "  You 
won't  never  be  punished  for  what  he  done." 

"  How  do  you  know  ?  "  exclaimed  McAllister, 
visions  of  a  speedy  release  crowding  into  his  mind. 

47 


McAllister's  Christmas 

"  And  if  you  knew,  why  didn't  you  say  so  before? 
Why,  you  might  have  got  me  out.  How  do  you 
know?  "  he  repeated. 

Wilkins  looked  around  cautiously.  The  keeper 
was  at  the  other  end  of  the  tier.  Then  he  came 
close  to  McAllister  and  whispered: 

"  Because  I'm  Fatty  Welch  myself!  " 


V 

Downstairs,  across  the  sunlit  prison  yard,  past 
the  spot  where  the  hangings  had  taken  place  in  the 
old  days,  up  an  enclosed  staircase,  a  half  turn,  and 
the  clubman  was  marched  across  the  Bridge  of 
Sighs.  Most  of  the  prisoners  with  him  seemed 
in  good  spirits,  but  McAllister,  who  was  oppressed 
with  the  foreboding  of  imminent  peril,  felt  that  he 
could  no  longer  take  any  chances.  His  fatal  re 
semblance  to  Fatty  Welch,  alias  Wilkins,  his 
former  valet,  the  circumstances  of  his  arrest,  the 
scar  on  his  neck,  would  seem  to  make  conviction 
certain  unless  he  followed  one  of  two  alternatives 
— either  that  of  disclosing  Welch's  identity  or  his 
own.  He  dismissed  the  former  instantly.  Now 
that  he  knew  something  of  the  real  sufferings  of 
men,  his  own  life  seemed  contemptible.  What 
mattered  the  laughter  of  his  friends,  or  sarcastic 
paragraphs  in  the  society  columns  of  the  papers? 

48 


McAllister's  Christmas 

What  did  the  fellows  at  the  club  know  of  the  game 
of  life  and  death  going  on  around  them?  of  the 
misery  and  vice  to  which  they  contributed?  of  the 
hopelessness  of  those  wretched  souls  who  had  been 
crushed  down  by  fate  into  the  gutters  of  life?  De 
termined  to  declare  himself,  he  entered  the  court 
room  and  tramped  with  the  others  to  the  rail. 

There,  to  his  amazement,  sat  old  Mr.  Potter 
beside  the  Judge.  Tom  and  his  partner  stood  at 
one  side. 

"  Welch,  step  up  here." 

Mr.  Potter  nodded  very  slightly,  and  McAllis 
ter,  taking  the  hint,  stepped  forward. 

"  Is  this  your  prisoner,  officer?  " 

"  Shure,  that's  him,  right  enough,"  answered 
Tom. 

"  Discharged,"  said  the  magistrate. 

Mr.  Potter  shook  hands  with  his  honor,  who 
smiled  good-humoredly  and  winked  at  McAllister. 

"  Now,  Welch,  try  and  behave  yourself.  I'll 
let  you  off  this  time,  but  if  it  happens  again  I  won't 
answer  for  the  consequences.  Go  home." 

Mr.  Potter  whispered  something  to  the  baffled 
officers,  who  grinned  sheepishly,  and  then,  seizing 
McAllister's  arm,  led  our  astonished  friend  out  of 
the  court-room. 

As  they  whirled  uptown  in  the  closed  automo 
bile  which  had  been  waiting  for  them  around  the 

49 


McAllister's  Christmas 

corner,  Mr.  Potter  explained  that  after  sending  the 
letter  he  had  felt  far  from  satisfied,  and  had  be 
thought  him  of  calling  up  Mrs.  Winthrop  on  the 
telephone.  Her  polite  surprise  at  the  lawyer's  in 
quiries  had  fully  convinced  him  of  his  error,  and 
after  evading  her  questions  with  his  usual  caution, 
he  had  taken  immediate  steps  for  his  client's  release 
— steps  which,  by  reason  of  the  lateness  of  the 
hour,  he  could  not  communicate  to  the  unhappy 
McAllister. 

"  What  has  become  of  the  fugitive  Welch,"  he 
ended,  "  remains  a  mystery.  The  police  cannot 
imagine  where  he  has  hidden  himself." 

"  I  wonder,"  said  McAllister  dreamily. 

It  was  just  seven  o'clock  when  McAllister,  ar 
rayed,  as  usual,  in  immaculate  evening  dress,  saun 
tered  into  the  club.  Most  of  the  men  were  back 
from  their  Christmas  outing;  half  a  dozen  of  them 
were  engaged  in  ordering  dinner. 

"  Hello,  Chubby!  "  shouted  someone.  "  Come 
and  have  a  drink.  Had  a  pleasant  Christmas? 
You  were  at  the  Winthrops',  weren't  you?  " 

"  No,"  answered  McAllister;  "  had  to  stay  right 
in  New  York.  Couldn't  get  away.  Yes,  I'll  take 
a  dry  Martini — er,  waiter,  make  that  two  Mar 
tinis.  I  want  you  all  to  have  dinner  with  me. 
How  would  terrapin  and  canvas-back  do  ?  Fill  it 

So 


McAllister's   Christmas 

out  to  suit  yourselves,  while  I  just  take  a  look  at 
the  Post." 

He  picked  up  a  paper,  glanced  at  the  head-lines, 
threw  it  down  with  a  sigh  of  relief,  and  lighted  a 
cigarette.  At  the  same  moment  two  policemen  in 
civilian  dress  were  leaving  McAllister's  apart 
ments,  each  having  received  at  the  hands  of  the 
impassive  Frazier  a  bundle  containing  a  silver- 
mounted  revolver  and  a  large  bottle  full  of  an 
unknown  brown  fluid. 

McAllister's  dinner  was  a  great  success.  The 
boys  all  said  afterward  that  they  had  never  seen 
Chubby  in  such  good  form.  Only  one  incident 
marred  the  serenity  of  the  occasion,  and  that  was  a 
mere  trifle.  Charlie  Bush  had  been  staying  over 
Christmas  with  an  ex-Chairman  of  the  Prison  Re 
form  Association,  and  being  in  a  communicative 
mood  insisted  on  talking  about  it. 

"  Only  fancy,"  he  remarked,  as  he  took  a  gulp 
of  champagne,  "  he  says  the  prisons  of  the  city  are 
in  an  abominable  condition — that  they're  a  dis 
grace  to  a  civilized  community." 

Tomlinson  paused  in  lifting  his  glass.  He  re 
membered  his  host's  opinion,  expressed  two  nights 
before  and  desired  to  show  his  appreciation  of  an 
excellent  meal. 

"  That's  all  rot!  "  he  interrupted  a  little  thickly. 
"  'S  all  politics.  The  Tombs  is  a  lot  better  than 


McAllister's  Christmas 

most  second-class  hotels  on  the  Continent.  Our 
prisons  are  all  right,  I  tell  you !  "  His  eyes 
swept  the  circle  militantly. 

u  Look  here,  Tomlinson,"  remarked  McAllis 
ter  sternly,  "  don't  be  so  sure.  What  do  you 
know  about  it?  " 


THE  BARON  DE  VILLE 


The  Extraordinary  Adventure 
of  the  Baron  de  Ville 


"  T  WANT  you,"  said  Barney  Conville,  tapping 
X  Mr.  McAllister  lightly  upon  the  shoulder. 

The  gentleman  addressed  turned  sharply,  letting 
fall  his  monocle.  He  certainly  had  never  seen  the 
man  before  in  his  life — was  sure  of  it,  even  dur 
ing  that  unfortunate  experience  the  year  before, 
which  he  had  so  far  successfully  concealed  from  his 
friends.  No,  it  was  simply  a  case  of  mistaken 
identity;  and  yet  the  fellow — confound  him! — 
didn't  look  like  a  chap  that  often  was  mistaken. 

"  Come,  come,  Fatty;  no  use  balkin'.  Come 
along  quiet,"  continued  Barney,  with  his  most  per 
suasive  smile.  He  was  a  smartly  built  fellow  with 
a  black  mustache  and  an  unswerving  eye,  about 
two-thirds  the  size  of  McAllister,  whom  he  had 
addressed  so  familiarly. 

"Fatty!"  McAllister,  bon  vivant,  clubman, 
prince  of  good  fellows,  started  at  the  word  and 
stared  tensely.  What  infernal  luck!  That  same 

55 


Baron    de  Ville 

regrettable  resemblance  that  had  landed  him  in  the 
Tombs  over  Christmas  was  again  bobbing  up  to 
render  him  miserable.  He  wished,  as  he  had 
wished  a  thousand  times,  that  Wilkins  had  been 
sentenced  to  twenty  years  instead  of  one.  He  had 
evidently  been  discharged  from  prison  and  was  at 
his  old  tricks  again,  with  the  result  that  once  more 
his  employer  was  playing  the  part  of  Dromio. 
McAllister  had  succeeded  by  judicious  bribery  and 
the  greatest  care  in  preserving  inviolate  the  history 
of  his  incarceration.  Had  this  not  been  the  case 
one  word  now  to  the  determined  individual  with 
the  icy  eye  would  have  set  the  matter  straight,  but 
he  could  not  bear  to  divulge  the  secret  of  those 
horrible  thirty-six  hours  which  he,  under  the  name 
of  his  burglarious  valet,  had  spent  locked  in  a  cell. 
Maybe  he  could  show  the  detective  he  was  mis 
taken  without  going  into  that  lamentable  history. 
But  of  course  McAllister  proceeded  by  exactly  the 
wrong  method. 

"  Oh,"  he  laughed  nonchalantly,  "  there  it  is 
again !  You've  got  me  confused  with  Fatty 
Welch.  We  do  look  alike,  to  be  sure."  He  put 
up  his  monocle  and  smiled  reassuringly,  as  if  his 
simple  statement  would  entirely  settle  the  matter. 

But  Barney  only  winked  sarcastically. 

"  You  show  yourself  quite  familiar  with  the 
name  of  the  gentleman  I'm  lookin'  for." 

56 


Baron    de  Ville 

McAllister  saw  that  he  had  made  a  mistake. 

"  No  more  foolin',  now,"  continued  Barney. 
"  Will  you  come  as  you  are,  or  with  the  nippers?  " 

The  clubman  bit  his  lip  with  annoyance. 

"  Look  here,  hang  you!  "  he  exclaimed  angrily, 
dropping  his  valise,  "  I'm  Mr.  McAllister  of  the 
Colophon  Club.  I'm  on  my  way  to  dine  with 
friends  in  the  country.  I've  got  to  take  this  train. 
Listen !  they're  shouting  '  All  aboard  '  now.  I 
know  who  you're  after.  You've  got  us  mixed. 
Your  man's  a  professional  crook.  I  can  prove  my 
identity  to  you  inside  of  five  minutes,  only  I  haven't 
time  here.  Just  jump  on  the  train  with  me,  and  if 
you're  not  convinced  by  the  time  we  reach  I25th 
Street  I'll  get  off  and  come  back  with  you." 

"  My,  but  you're  gamer  than  ever,  Fatty," 
retorted  Barney  with  admiration.  Thoughts  of 
picking  up  hitherto  unsuspected  clews  flitted 
through  his  mind.  He  had  his  man  "  pinched," 
why  not  play  him  awhile?  It  seemed  not  a  half 
bad  idea  to  the  Central  Office  man. 

"  Well,  I'll  humor  you  this  once.  Step  aboard. 
No  funny  business,  now.  I've  got  my  smoke  wagon 
right  here.  Remember,  you're  under  arrest." 

They  swung  aboard  just  as  the  train  started. 
As  McAllister  sank  into  his  seat  in  the  parlor  car 
with  Barney  beside  him  he  recognized  Joe  Wain- 
wright  directly  opposite.  Here  was  an  easy 

57 


Baron    de  Ville 

chance  to  prove  his  identity,  and  he  was  just  about 
to  lean  over  and  pour  forth  his  sorrows  to  his 
friend  when  he  realized  with  fresh  humiliation 
that  should  he  seize  this  opportunity  to  explain  the 
present  situation,  the  whole  wretched  story  of  his 
Christmas  in  the  Tombs  would  probably  be  di 
vulged.  He  would  be  the  laughing-stock  of  the 
club,  and  the  fellows  would  never  let  him  hear  the 
last  of  it.  He  hesitated,  but  Wainwright  took 
the  initiative. 

"  How  d'y',  Chubby?  "  said  he,  getting  up  and 
coming  over.  "  On  your  way  to  Blair's?  " 

'  Yes.  Almost  missed  the  confounded  train," 
replied  McAllister,  struggling  for  small  talk. 

'Who's  your  friend?"  continued  the  irrepres 
sible  Wainwright.  "  Kind  o'  think  I  know  him. 
Foreigner,  ain't  he?  Think  he  was  at  Newport 
last  summer." 

"  Er — ye — es.  Baron  de  Ville.  Picked  him 
up  at  the  club — friend  of  Pierrepont's.  Takin' 
him  out  to  Blair's — so  hospitable,  don'cher  know." 
He  stammered  horribly,  for  he  found  himself 
sinking  deeper  and  deeper. 

"  Like  to  meet  him,"  remarked  Wainwright. 
"  Like  all  these  foreign  fellers." 

McAllister  groaned.  He  certainly  was  in  for 
it  now.  The  I25th  Street  idea  would  have  to  be 
abandoned. 

58 


Baron    de  Ville 

"  Er — Baron  "  —he  strangled  over  the  name — 
"  Baron,  I  want  to  present  Mr.  Joseph  Wain- 
wright.  He  thinks  he's  met  you  in  Paris."  Our 
friend  accompanied  this  with  a  pronounced  wink. 

"  Glad  to  meet  you,  Baron,"  said  Wainwright, 
grasping  the  detective's  hand  with  effusion. 
"  Newport,  I  think  it  was." 

The  "  Baron  "  bowed.  This  was  a  new  com 
plication,  but  it  was  all  in  the  day's  work.  Of 
course,  the  whole  thing  was  plain  enough.  Fatty 
Welch  was  "  working "  some  swell  guys  who 
thought  he  was  a  real  high-roller.  Maybe  he  was 
going  to  pull  off  some  kind  of  a  job  that  very  even 
ing.  Perhaps  this  big  chap  in  the  swagger  flan 
nels  was  one  of  the  gang.  Barney  was  thinking 
hard.  Well,  he'd  take  the  tip  and  play  the  hand 
out. 

"  It  ees  a  peutifool  efening,"  said  the  Baron. 

The  train  plunged  into  the  tunnel. 

"  Look  here,"  hissed  McAllister  in  Barney's  ear. 
"  You've  got  to  stick  this  thing  out,  now,  or  I'll 
be  the  butt  of  the  townX  Remember,  we're  going 
to  the  Blairs  at  Scarsdale.  You're  the  particular 
friend  of  a  man  named  Pierrepont — fellow  with  a 
glass  eye  who  owns  a  castle  somewhere  in  France. 
.  .  .  Are  you  satisfied  yet?  "  he  added  indig 
nantly. 

"  I'm  satisfied  you're  Fatty  Welch,"  Barney  re- 
59 


Baron    de  Ville 

plied.  "  I  ain't  on  to  your  game,  I  admit.  Still, 
I  can  do  the  Baron  act  awhile  if  it  amuses  you  any." 
The  train  emerged  from  the  tunnel,  and  McAl 
lister  observed  that  there  were  other  friends  of  his 
on  the  car,  bound  evidently  for  the  same  destina 
tion.  Well,  anything  was  better  than  having  that 
confounded  story  about  the  Tombs  get  around. 
He  had  often  thought  that  if  it  ever  did  he  would 
go  abroad  to  live.  He  couldn't  stand  ridicule. 
His  dignity  was  his  chief  asset.  Nothing  so  effect 
ually,  as  McAllister  well  knew,  conceals  the  ab 
sence  of  brains.  But  could  he  ever  in  the  wide, 
wide  world  work  off  the  detective  as  a  baron? 
Well,  if  he  failed,  he  could  explain  the  situation  on 
the  basis  of  a  practical  joke  and  save  his  face  in 
that  way.  Just  at  present  the  Baron  was  getting 
along  famously  with  Wainwright.  McAllister 
hoped  he  wouldn't  overdo  it.  One  thing,  thank 
Heaven, he  remembered — Wainwright  had  flunked 
his  French  disgracefully  at  college  and  probably 
wouldn't  dare  venture  it  under  the  circumstances. 
There  was  still  a  chance  that  he  might  convince  his 
captor  of  his  mistake  before  they  reached  Scars- 
dale,  and  on  the  strength  of  this  he  proposed  a 
cigar.  But  Wainwright  had  frozen  hard  to  his 
Baron  and  accepted  for  himself  with  alacrity,  even 
suggesting  a  drink  on  his  own  account.  McAllis 
ter's  heart  failed  him  as  he  thought  of  having  ':o 

60 


Baron    de  Ville 

present  the  detective  to  Mrs.  Blair  and  her  fashion 
able  guests  and — by  George,  the  fellow  hadn't  got 
a  dress-suit !  They  never  could  get  over  that.  It 
was  bad  enough  to  lug  in  a  stranger — a  "  copper  " 
— and  palm  him  off  as  the  distinguished  friend  of 
a  friend,  but  a  feller  without  any  evening  clothes 
— impossible!  McAllister  wanted  to  shoot  him. 
Was  ever  a  chap  so  tied  up?  And  now  if  the  fel 
ler  wasn't  talking  about  Paris!  Paris!  He'd 
make  some  awful  break,  and  then —  Oh,  curse 
the  luck,  anyway ! 

Then  it  was  that  McAllister  resolved  to  do 
something  desperate. 

II 

"  I'm  perfectly  delighted  to  have  the  Baron. 
Why  didn't  you  bring  Pierrepont,  too?  How 
d'y'  do,  Baron?  Let  me  present  you  to  my  hus 
band.  Gordon — Baron  de  Ville.  I'll  put  you 
and  Mr.  McAllister  together.  We're  just  a  little 
crowded.  You've  hardly  time  to  dress — dinner  in 
just  nineteen  minutes." 

"  Zank  you !  It  ees  so  vera  hospitable !  "  said 
the  Baron,  bowing  low,  and  twirling  his  mustache 
in  the  most  approved  fashion. 

"  Come  on,  de  Ville."  McAllister  slapped  his 
Old-Man-of-the-Sea  upon  the  back  good-naturedly. 

61 


Baron    de  Ville 

"  You  can  give  Mrs.  Blair  all  the  risque  Paris  gos 
sip  at  dinner."  They  followed  the  second  man 
upstairs.  Although  an  old  friend  of  both  Mrs. 
Blair  and  her  husband,  McAllister  had  never  been 
at  the  Scarsdale  house  before.  It  was  new,  and 
massively  built.  They  were  debating  whether  or 
not  to  call  it  Castle  Blair.  The  second  man 
showed  them  to  a  room  at  the  extreme  end  of  a 
wing,  and  as  the  servant  laid  out  the  clothes  Mc 
Allister  thought  the  man  eyed  him  rather  curiously. 
Well,  confound  it,  he  was  getting  used  to  it.  Bar 
ney  lit  a  cigarette  and  measured  the  distance  from 
the  window  to  the  ground  with  a  discriminating 
eye. 

1{  Well,"  said  the  clubman,  after  the  second  man 
had  finally  retired,  "  are  you  satisfied?  And  what 
the  deuce  is  going  to  happen  now?  " 

Barney  sank  into  a  Morris  chair  and  thrust  his 
feet  comfortably  on  to  the  fender. 

"  Fatty,"  said  he,  as  he  blew  a  multitude  of  tiny 
rings  toward  the  blaze,  "  you're  a  wizard !  Never 
seen  such  nerve  in  my  life — and  you  only  out  two 
months !  You've  got  the  clothes,  and,  what's 
more,  you've  got  the  real  chappie  lingo.  It's 
great !  I'm  sorry  to  have  to  pull  in  such  an  artist. 
I  am,  honest.  An'  now  you've  got  to  go  behind 
prison  bars!  It's  sad — positively  sad!  " 

"  Look  here  I  "  demanded  McAllister.  "  Do 
62 


Baron    de  Ville 

you  mean  to  tell  me  you're  such  a  bloomirr  ass  as 
to  think  that  I'm  a  crook,  a  professional  burglar, 
who's  got  an  introduction  into  society — a  what-do- 
you-call-him?  Oh,  yes— Raffles  ?" 

Barney  grinned  at  his  victim,  who  was  just  get 
ting  into  his  dress-coat. 

"  Don't  throw  such  a  chest,  Fatty !  "  he  said 
genially.  "  I  think  you've  got  Raffles  whipped 
to  a  standstill.  But  you  can't  fool  me,  and  you 
can't  lose  me.  By  the  way,  what  am  I  goin'  to  do 
for  evenin'  clothes?  " 

"  Dunno.  Have  to  stay  up  here,  I  guess.  You 
can't  come  to  dinner  in  those  togs.  It  would  queer 
everything." 

"  I'm  goin',  just  the  same.  Not  once  do  I  lose 
sight  of  you,  old  chappie,  until  you're  safely  in 
the  cooler  at  headquarters.  Then  your  swell 
friends  can  bail  you  out !  " 

It  was  time  for  dinner.  The  little  Dresden 
china  clock  on  the  mantel  struck  the  hour  softly, 
politely.  McAllister  glanced  toward  the  door. 
The  room  was  the  largest  of  a  suite.  A  small  hall 
intervened  between  them  and  the  main  corridor. 
His  hand  trembled  as  he  lit  a  Philip  Morris. 

"  Come  on,  then,"  he  muttered  over  his  shoul 
der  to  Barney,  and  led  the  way  to  the  door  leading 
into  the  bath-room,  which  was  next  the  door  into 
the  hall  and  identical  with  it  in  appearance.  He 

63 


Baron    de  Ville 

held  it  politely  ajar  for  the  detective,  with  a  smile 
of  resignation. 

"  Apres  vous,  mon  cher  Baron !  "  he  murmured. 

The  Baron  acknowledged  the  courtesy  with  an 
appreciative  grin  and  passed  in  front  of  McAllis 
ter,  but  had  no  sooner  done  so  than  he  received 
a  violent  push  into  the  darkness.  McAllister 
quickly  pulled  and  locked  the  heavy  walnut  door, 
then  paused,  breathless,  listening  for  some  sound. 
He  hoped  the  feller  hadn't  fallen  and  cut  his  head 
against  the  tub.  There  was  a  muffled  report,  and 
a  bullet  sang  past  and  buried  itself  in  the  enam 
elled  bedstead.  Bang!  Another  whizzed  into 
the  china  on  the  washstand. 

McAllister  dashed  for  the  corridor,  closing  both 
the  outer  and  inner  means  of  egress.  At  the  head 
of  the  stairs  he  met  Wainwright. 

"  What  the  devil  are  you  fellers  try  in'  to  do, 
anyway?  "  asked  the  latter.  "  Sounds  as  if  you 
were  throwin'  dumb-bells  at  each  other." 

McAllister  lighted  another  cigarette. 

"  Oh,  the  Baron  was  showing  me  how  they  do 
'  savate,'  that  kind  of  boxing  with  their  feet, 
don'cher  know !  " 

Chubby  was  entirely  himself  again.  An  unusual 
color  suffused  his  ordinarily  pink  countenance  as 
he  joined  the  guests  waiting  for  dinner.  He  ex 
plained  ruefully  that  the  Baron  had  been  suddenly 

64 


Baron    de  Ville 

taken  with  a  sharp  pain  in  his  head.  It  was  an 
old  trouble,  he  informed  them,  and  would  soon 
pass  off.  The  nobleman  would  join  the  others 
presently — as  soon  as  he  felt  able  to  do  so. 

There  were  murmurs  of  regret  from  all  sides, 
since  Mrs.  Blair  had  lost  no  time  in  spreading  the 
knowledge  of  the  distinguished  foreigner's  pres 
ence  at  the  house. 

"  Who's  missing  besides  the  Baron?  "  inquired 
Blair,  counting  heads.  "Oh,  yes,  Miss  Benson!  " 

"Oh,  we  won't  wait  for  Mildred!  It  would 
make  her  feel  so  awkward,"  responded  his  wife. 
"  She  and  the  Baron  can  come  in  together.  Mr. 
McAllister,  I  believe  I'm  to  have  the  pleasure  of 
being  taken  in  by  you !  " 

"  Er — ye — es !  "  muttered  Chubby  vaguely,  for 
at  the  moment  he  was  calculating  how  long  it  would 
have  taken  that  other  Baron,  the  famous  Trenk, 
to  dig  his  way  out  of  a  porcelain  bath-tub.  '  Too 
beastly  bad  about  de  Ville,  but  these  French  fel 
lows,  they  don't  have  the  advantage  of  our  athletic 
sports  to  keep  'em  in  condition.  Do  you  know,  I 
hardly  ever  get  off  my  peck?  All  due  to  taking 
regular  exercise." 

The  party  made  their  way  to  the  dining-room 
and  were  distributed  in  their  various  places.  As 
McAllister  was  pushing  in  the  chair  of  his  hostess 
his  eye  fell  upon  a  servant  who  was  performing 

65 


Baron    de  Ville 

the  same  office  for  a  lady  opposite.  Could  it  be? 
He  adjusted  his  monocle.  There  was  no  doubt 
about  it.  It  was  Wilkins.  And  now  the  detective 
was  locked  in  the  bath-room,  and  the  burglar,  his 
own  double,  would  probably  pass  him  the  soup. 

"What  a  jolly  mess!"  ejaculated  the  bewil 
dered  guest  under  his  breath,  sinking  into  his  chair 
and  mechanically  bolting  a  caviare  hors-d'oeuvre. 
He  drained  his  sherry  and  tried  to  grasp  the  whole 
significance  of  the  situation. 

"  I  do  hope  the  Baron  is  feeling  better  by  this 
time,"  he  heard  Mrs.  Blair  remark.  He  was 
about  to  make  an  appropriately  sympathetic  reply 
when  Miss  Benson  came  hurriedly  into  the  room, 
paused  at  the  foot  of  the  table  and  grasped  the  back 
of  a  chair  for  support.  She  had  lost  all  her  color, 
and  her  hands  and  voice  trembled  with  excitement. 

"  It's  gone !  "  she  gasped.  "  Stolen !  My 
mother's  pearl  necklace !  I  had  it  on  the  bureau 
just  before  tea !  Oh,  what  shall  I  do !  "  She 
burst  into  hysterical  sobs. 

Two  or  three  women  gave  little  shrieks  and 
pushed  back  their  chairs. 

"  My  tiara !  "  exclaimed  one. 

"  And  my  diamond  sun-burst !  I  left  it  right 
on  a  book  on  the  dressing-table !  "  cried  another. 

There  was  a  general  move  from  the  table. 

"  O  Gordon !  Do  you  think  there  are  burg- 
66 


Baron    de  Ville 

lars  in  the  house?  "  called  Mrs.  Blair  to  her  hus 
band. 

"  Heaven  knows !  "  he  replied.  "  There  may 
be.  But  don't  let's  get  excited.  Miss  Benson 
may  possibly  be  mistaken,  or  she  may  have  mislaid 
the  necklace.  What  do  you  suggest,  McAllis 
ter?" 

"  Well,"  replied  our  hero,  keeping  a  careful  eye 
upon  Wilkins,  "  the  first  thing  is  to  learn  how  much 
is  missing.  Why  don't  these  ladies  go  right  up 
stairs  and  see  if  they've  lost  anything?  Mean 
while,  we'd  all  better  sit  down  and  finish  our  soup." 

"  Good  idea  I  "  returned  Blair.  "  I'll  go  with 
them." 

The  three  hurriedly  left  the  room,  and  the  rest 
of  the  guests,  with  the  exception  of  Miss  Benson, 
seated  themselves  once  more. 

Everybody  began  to  talk  at  once.  By  George ! 
The  Benson  pearls  stolen !  Why,  they  were  worth 
twenty  thousand  dollars  thirty  years  ago  in  Rome. 
You  couldn't  buy  them  now  for  love  or  money. 
Well,  she  had  better  sit  down  and  eat  something, 
anyway — a  glass  of  wine,  just  to  revive  her  spirits. 
Miss  Benson  was  finally  persuaded  by  her  anxious 
hostess  to  sit  down  and  "  eat  something."  Mrs. 
Blair  was  very  much  upset.  How  awkward  to 
have  such  a  thing  happen  at  one's  first  house  party. 

The  searchers  presently  returned  with  the  word 
67 


Baron    de  Ville 

that  apparently  nothing  else  had  been  taken.     This 
had  a  beneficial  effect  on  the  general  appetite. 

Meanwhile  McAllister  had  been  watching  Wil- 
kins.  Wilkins  had  been  watching  McAllister. 
Since  that  Christmas  in  the  Tombs  they  had 
not  seen  each  other.  The  valet  was  unchanged, 
save,  of  course,  that  his  beard  was  gone.  He 
moved  silently  from  place  to  place,  nothing  betray 
ing  the  agitation  he  must  have  felt  at  the  realiza 
tion  that  he  was  discovered.  People  were  all 
shouting  encouragement  to  Miss  Benson.  There 
was  a  great  chatter  and  confusion.  The  tearful 
and  hysterical  Mildred  was  making  pitiful  little 
dabs  at  the  viands  forced  upon  her.  Meanwhile 
the  dinner  went  on.  McAllister's  seat  com 
manded  the  door,  and  he  could  see,  through  the 
swinging  screen,  that  there  was  no  exit  to  the 
kitchen  from  the  pantry. 

Wilkins  approached  with  the  fish.  As  the 
valet  bent  forward  and  passed  the  dish  to  his 
former  master  McAllister  whispered  sharply  in 
his  ear: 

'  You're  caught  unless  you  give  up  that  neck 
lace.  There's  a  Central  Office  man  outside.  / 
brought  him.  Pass  me  the  jewels.  It's  your 
only  chance !  " 

"  Very  good,  sir,"  replied  Wilkins  without  mov 
ing  a  muscle. 

68 


Baron    de  Ville 

The  guests  were  still  discussing  excitedly  Miss 
Benson's  loss.  McAllister's  thoughts  flew  back  to 
the  time  when,  locked  in  the  same  cell,  he  and 
Wilkins  had  eaten  their  frugal  meal  together.  He 
could  never  bring  himself  now  to  give  him  up  to 
that  detective  fellow — that  ubiquitous  and  omni 
scient  ass!  But  Wilkins  was  approaching  with 
the  entree.  As  he  passed  the  vol  au  vent  he  unos 
tentatiously  slipped  something  in  a  handkerchief 
into  McAllister's  lap. 

"May  I  go  now,  sir?"  he  asked  almost  in- 
audibly. 

"  Have  you  taken  anything  else?  "  inquired  his 
master. 

"  Nothing." 

"  On  your  honor  as  a  gentleman 's  gentle 
man?  " 

Wilkins  smiled  tremulously. 

"  Hon  my  onor,  Mr.  McAllister." 
'  Then,  go ! — You  seem  to  have  a  penchant  for 
pearls,"  McAllister  added  half  to  himself,  as  he 
clasped  in  his  hand  the  famous  necklace.  Com 
mon  humanity  to  Miss  Benson  demanded  his  in 
stant  declaration  of  its  possession,  but  the  thought 
of  Wilkins,  who  had  slipped  unobtrusively  through 
the  door,  gave  him  pause.  Let  the  poor  chap 
have  all  the  time  he  could  get.  He'd  probably 
be  caught,  anyway.  Just  a  question  of  a  few  days 

69 


Baron    de  Ville 

at  most.     And  what  a  chance  to  get  even  on  the 
Baron ! 

But  meanwhile  the  service  had  halted.  The 
butler,  a  sedate  person  with  white  mutton-chops, 
after  waiting  nervously  a  few  minutes,  started  to 
pass  the  roast  himself. 

Miss  Benson  had  been  prevailed  upon  to  finish 
her  meal,  and  after  dinner  they  were  all  going  to 
have  a  grand  hunt,  everywhere.  Afterward,  if 
the  necklace  was  not  discovered,  they  would  send 
for  a  detective  from  New  York. 

Suddenly  two  pistol  shots  rang  out  just  beside 
the  window.  Men's  voices  were  raised  in  angry 
shouts.  A  horse  attached  to  some  sort  of  vehicle 
galloped  down  the  road.  The  guests  started  to 
their  feet.  A  violent  struggle  was  taking  place 
outside  the  dining-room  door.  McAllister  sprang 
up  just  in  time  to  see  the  Baron  break  away 
from  Blair's  coachman  and  cover  him  with  his 
pistol.  The  jehu  threw  up  his  hands.  He 
was  a  sorry  spectacle,  collarless,  and  without 
his  coat.  Damp  earth  clung  to  his  lower  limbs 
and  his  defiant  eyes  glowed  under  tousled  hair, 
while  a  bloody,  swollen  nose  protruded  between 
them. 

"Here!  What's  all  this?"  shouted  Blair. 
"  Put  up  that  pistol!  Who  are  you,  sir?  "  Then 
the  host  rubbed  his  eyes  and  looked  again. 

70 


Baron    de  Ville 

"  By  George!  It's  the  Baron!  "  yelled  Wain- 
wright. 

"The  Baron!  The  Baron!"  exclaimed  the 
others. 

"  Baron — nothin' !  "  gasped  Barney,  still  cover 
ing  the  coachman,  while  with  the  other  hand  he 
tried  to  rearrange  his  neckwear.  "  I'm  Conville 
of  the  Central  Office,  and  this  man  has  aided  in 
an  escape.  I'm  arrestin'  him  for  felony!  " 

The  detective's  own  features  had  evidently  made 
a  close  acquaintance  with  mother  earth,  and  one 
sleeve  was  torn  almost  to  the  shoulder.  His  eye 
presently  fell  upon  McAllister,  and  he  gave  vent  to 
an  exclamation  of  bewilderment. 

"You!  You!  How  did  you  get  out  of  that 
wagon  so  quick?  I've  got  you  now,  anyway!" 
And  he  shifted  his  gun  in  McAllister's  direction. 
The  women  shrieked  and  crowded  back  into  the 
dining-room. 

The  coachman,  who  had  not  dared  to  remove 
his  eyes  from  the  detective,  now  began  to  jabber 
hysterically. 

"  Hi  think  'e's  mad,  I  do,  Mr.  Blair !  Hi  think 
we  all  are!  First  hout  comes  Mr.  McAllister, 
whom  I  brought  from  the  station  only  an  'our  ago 
an'  says  as  'ow  'e  must  go  back  at  once  to  New 
York.  So  I  'arnesses  up  Lady  Bird  in  the 
spyder  an'  sends  Jeames  to  put  hon  'is  livery. 


Baron    de  Ville 

Just  as  Jeames  comes  back  an'  Mr.  McAllister 
jumps  in,  hout  comes  this  party  'ere  an'  yells  some- 
thin'  about  Welch  an'  tries  to  climb  in  arter  Mr. 
McAllister.  Jeames  gives  the  mare  a  cut  an' 
haway  they  go.  Then  this  'ere  party  begins  to  run 
arter  'em  and  commences  shootin'.  HI  tackles 
'im !  '£  knocks  me  down !  Hi  grabs  'im  by  the 
leg,  an'  'ere  we  are,  sir,  axin'  yer  pardon —  Hello, 
why  'ere's  Mr.  McAllister  now!  May  I  ask  as 
'ow  you  got  'ere,  sir?  " 

But  Barney  had  suddenly  dropped  the  pistol. 

"  Quick !  "  he  shouted  wildly.  "  Harness  an 
other  horse!  We've  still  got  time.  I  can't  lose 
my  man  this  way !  " 

"Well,  who  is  he?  Who  was  it  you  shot 
at?" 

"Welch!  Fatty  Welch!"  shrieked  the  Baron. 
"  There's  two  of  'em !  But  the  one  I  want  has 
started  for  the  station.  I  must  catch  him !  " 

"  Excuse  me,  sir,"  interrupted  the  old  butler, 
who  alone  had  preserved  his  equanimity,  address 
ing  Mr.  Blair.  "  My  impression  is,  sir,  that  it 
must  have  been  Manice,  sir — the  new  third  man, 
sir.  I  saw  him  step  out.  He  must  have  taken 
Mr.  McAllister's  coat  and  hat!  " 

There  was  an  immediate  chorus  of  assent.  Of 
course  that  was  it.  The  man  had  disguised  him 
self  in  McAllister's  clothes. 

72 


Baron    de  Ville 

"  He's  got  the  necklace!"  wailed  Mildred. 
"Oh,  I  fcwowhehas!" 

"Yes!     Yes!" 

"  Of  course  he's  got  it!  " 

"After  him!     After  him!" 

"Necklace!  What  necklace?"  inquired  Bar 
ney,  more  bewildered  than  ever. 

"  My  mother's  pearl  necklace!  She  bought  it 
in  Rome.  And  now  it's  gone.  He's  got  it." 

Barney  made  a  move  for  the  door. 

"Run  and  harness  up,  William!"  directed 
Blair.  "  Put  in  the  Morgan  ponies.  Hustle 
now.  The  train  isn't  due  for  fifteen  minutes  and 
you  can  reach  the  station  in  ten.  Don't  spare  the 
horses !  " 

William,  with  a  defiant  look  at  the  detective, 
hastened  to  obey  the  order. 

Barney  was  running  his  hands  through  his  hair. 
He  certainly  had  stumbled  on  to  somethin',  by 
Hookey!  If  he  could  only  catch  that  feller  it 
would  mean  certain  promotion !  He  had  to  ad 
mit  that  he  had  been  mistaken  about  McAllister, 
but  this  was  better. 

'  You  see,  I  was  right !  "  remarked  our  hero  to 
the  detective  in  his  usual  suave  tones.  "  You 
should  have  done  just  what  I  said.  You  stayed 
too  long  upstairs.  However,  there's  still  a  run 
ning  chance  of  your  catching  our  man  at  the  sta- 

73 


Baron    de  Ville 

tion.  Here,  take  a  drink,  and  then  get  along  as 
fast  as  you  can!  " 

He  handed  Barney  a  glass  of  champagne,  and 
the  detective  hastily  gulped  it  down.  He  needed 
it,  for  the  fifteen-foot  jump  from  the  bath-room 
window  had  shaken  him  up  badly. 

"  Trap's  ready,  sir !  "  called  William,  coming 
into  the  hall,  and  Barney  turned  without  a  word 
and  dashed  for  the  door.  The  whip  cracked  and 
McAllister  was  free. 

"  Well,  well,  well!  "  remarked  Blair.  "  Don't 
let's  lose  our  dinner,  anyway !  Come,  ladies,  let's 
finish  our  meal.  We  at  least  know  who  the  thief 
is,  and  there's  a  fair  chance  of  his  being  caught. 
I  will  notify  the  White  Plains  police  at  once! 
Don't  despair,  Miss  Benson.  We'll  have  the 
necklace  for  you  yet !  " 

But  Mildred  was  not  to  be  comforted  and  clung 
to  Mrs.  Blair,  with  the  tears  welling  in  her  eyes, 
while  her  hostess  patted  her  cheek  and  tried  to 
encourage  a  belief  that  the  necklace  in  some  mys 
terious  way  would  return. 

"  No,  it's  gone !  I  know  it  is.  They'll  never 
catch  him !  Oh,  it's  dreadful !  I  would  give  any 
thing  in  the  world  to  have  that  necklace  back !  " 

"Anything,  Miss  Benson?"  inquired  McAllis 
ter  gayly,  as  he  rose  from  his  place  and  held  up 
the  softly  shining  cord  of  pearls.  "  But  perhaps 

74 


Baron    de  Ville 

if  I  held  you  to  the  letter  of  your  contract  you 
might  claim  duress.  Allow  me  to  return  the  neck 
lace.  It's  a  great  pleasure,  I  assure  you !  " 

"  Hooray  for  Chubby !  "  shouted  Wainwright. 
The  company  gasped  with  astonishment  as  Miss 
Benson  eagerly  seized  the  jewels. 

"  By  George,  McAllister !  How  did  you  do 
it  ?  "  inquired  his  excited  host. 

"  Yes,  tell  us !  How  did  you  get  'em  ?  Where 
did  you  get  'em?  " 

"Who  was  the  Baron?" 

"  How  on  earth  did  you  know?  " 

They  all  suddenly  began  to  shout,  asking  ques 
tions,  arguing,  and  exclaiming  with  astonishment. 

McAllister  saw  that  some  explanation  was  in 
order. 

"  Just  a  bit  of  detective  work  of  my  own,"  he 
announced  carelessly.  "  I  don't  care  to  say  any 
thing  more  about  it.  One  can't  give  away  one's 
trade  secrets,  don'cher  know.  Of  course  that  as 
sistant  of  mine  made  rather  a  mess  of  it,  but  after 
all,  the  necklace  was  the  main  thing!  "  And  he 
bowed  to  Miss  Benson. 

Beyond  this  brilliant  elucidation  of  the  mystery 
no  one  could  extract  a  syllable  from  the  hero  of 
the  occasion.  The  Baron  did  not  return,  and  his 
absence  was  not  observed.  But  Joe  Wainwright 
voiced  the  sentiments  of  the  entire  company  when 

75 


Baron    de  Ville 

he  announced  somewhat  huskily  that  McAllister 
made  Sherlock  Holmes  look  like  thirty  cents. 

"  But,  say,"  he  muttered  thickly  an  hour  later 
to  his  host  as  they  sauntered  into  the  billiard-room 
for  one  last  whiskey  and  soda,  "  did  you  notice  how 
much  that  butler  feller  that  ran  away  looked  like 
McAllister?  'S  livin'  image!  Ton  my  'onor!  " 

"  You've  been  drinking,  Joe !  "  laughed  his  com 
panion. 


THE  ESCAPE  OF  WILKINS 


The  Escape  of  Wilkins 


"  T)ARTY  to  see  you,  sir,  in  the  visitors'  room. 
JL  Didn't  have  a  card.  Said  you  would 
know  him,  sir." 

Although  Peter  spoke  in  his  customary  defer 
ential  tones,  there  was  a  queer  look  upon  his  face 
that  did  not  escape  McAllister  as  the  latter  glanced 
up  from  the  afternoon  paper  which  he  had  been 
perusing  in  the  window. 

"  Hm !  "  remarked  the  clubman,  gazing  out  at 
the  rain  falling  in  torrents.  Who  in  thunder  could 
be  calling  upon  him  a  day  like  this,  when  there 
wasn't  even  a  cab  in  sight  and  the  policemen  had 
sought  sanctuary  in  convenient  vestibules.  It  was 
evident  that  this  "  party  "  must  want  to  see  him 
very  badly  indeed. 

"What  shall  I  say,  sir?"  continued  Peter 
gently. 

McAllister  glanced  sharply  at  him.  Of  course 
it  was  absurd  to  suppose  that  Peter,  or  anyone  else, 
had  heard  of  the  extraordinary  events  at  the  Blairs' 

79 


The  Escape  of  Wilkins 

the  night  before,  yet  vaguely  McAllister  felt  that 
this  stranger  must  in  some  mysterious  way  be  con 
nected  with  them.  In  any  case  there  was  no  use 
trying  to  duck  the  consequences  of  the  adventure, 
whatever  they  might  prove  to  be. 

"  I'll  see  him,"  said  the  clubman.  Maybe  it 
was  another  detective  after  additional  information, 
or  perhaps  a  reporter.  Without  hesitation  he 
crossed  the  marble  hall  and  parted  the  portieres 
of  the  visitors'  room.  Before  him  stood  the  rain- 
soaked,  bedraggled  figure  of  the  valet. 

"  Wilkins!  "  he  gasped. 

The  burglar  raised  his  head  and  disclosed  a 
countenance  haggard  from  lack  of  sleep  and  the 
strain  of  the  pursuit.  Little  rivers  of  rain  streamed 
from  his  cuffs,  his  (McAllister's)  coat-tails,  and 
from  the  brim  of  his  master's  hat,  which  he  held 
deprecatingly  before  him.  There  was  a  look  of 
fear  in  his  eyes,  and  he  trembled  like  a  hare  which 
pauses  uncertain  in  which  direction  to  escape. 

"Forgive  me,  sir!  Oh,  sir,  forgive  me! 
They're  right  hafter  me!  Just  houtside,  sir!  It 
was  my  honly  chance !  " 

McAllister  gazed  at  him  horrified  and  speech 
less. 

'  You  see,  sir,"  continued  Wilkins  in  accents  of 
breathless  terror,  "  I  caught  the  train  last  night  and 
reached  the  city  a'ead  of  the  detective.  I  knew 

80 


The  Escape  of  Wilkins 

Vd  'ave  telegraphed  a  general  halarm,  so  I  'id  in 
a  harea  all  night.  This  mornin'  I  thought  I'd 
given  'im  the  slip,  but  I  walked  square  into  'im  on 
Fiftieth  Street.  I  took  it  on  a  run  hup  Sixth  Have- 
nue,  doubled  'round  a  truck,  an'  thought  I'd  lost 
'im,  but  'e  saw  me  on  Fifty-third  Street  an'  started 
dead  after  me.  I  think  'e  saw  me  stop  in  'ere,  sir. 
Wot  shall  I  do,  sir?  You  won't  give  me  hup,  will 
you,  sir?  " 

Before  McAllister  could  reply  there  was  a  com 
motion  at  the  door  of  the  club,  and  he  recognized 
the  clear  tones  of  Barney  Conville. 

"Who  am  I?  I'm  a  sergeant  of  police — De 
tective  Bureau.  You've  just  passed  in  a  burglar. 
He  must  be  right  inside.  Let  me  in,  I  say !  " 

Wilkins  shrank  back  toward  the  curtains. 

There  was  a  slight  scuffle,  but  the  servant  out 
side  placed  his  foot  behind  the  door  in  such  a  posi 
tion  that  the  detective  could  not  enter.  Then 
Peter  came  to  the  rescue. 

'  What  do  you  mean  by  trying  to  force  your 
way  into  a  private  club,  like  this?  I'll  telephone 
the  Inspector.  Get  out  of  here,  now !  Get  away 
from  that  door !  " 

"  Inspector  nothin' !     Let  me  in !  " 

"  Have  you  got  a  warrant?  " 

The  question  seemed  to  stagger  the  detective  for 
a  moment,  and  his  adversary  seized  the  opportu- 

81 


The  Escape  of  Wilkins 

nity    to    close    the    door.     Then    Peter   knocked 
politely  upon  the  other  side  of  the  curtains. 

"  I'm  afraid,  Mr.  McAllister,  I  can't  keep  the 
officer  out  much  longer.  It's  only  a  question  of 
time.  You'll  pardon  me,  sir?  " 

"  Of  course,  Peter,"  answered  McAllister. 

He  stepped  to  the  window.  Outside  he  could 
see  Conville  stationing  two  plain-clothes  men  so  as 
to  guard  both  exits  from  the  club.  McAllister's 
breath  came  fast.  Wilkins  crouched  in  terror  by 
the  centre-table.  Then  a  momentary  inspiration 
came  to  the  clubman. 

"  Er — Peter,  this  is  my  friend,  Mr.  Lloyd- Jones. 
Take  his  coat  and  hat,  give  me  a  check  for  them, 
and  then  show  him  upstairs  to  a  room.  He'll  be 
here  for  an  hour  or  so." 

"  Very  good,  sir,"  replied  Peter  without  emo 
tion,  as  he  removed  Wilkins's  dripping  coat  and 
hat.  "  This  way,  sir." 

Casting  a  look  of  dazed  gratitude  at  his  former 
master,  the  valet  followed  Peter  toward  the  ele 
vator. 

"  Here's  a  nice  mess!  "  thought  McAllister,  as 
he  returned  to  the  big  room.  "  How  am  I  ever 
going  to  get  rid  of  him?  And  ain't  I  liable  some 
how  as  an  accomplice?  " 

He  wrinkled  his  brows,  lit  a  Perfecto,  and  sank 
again  into  his  accustomed  place  by  the  window. 

82 


The  Escape  of  Wilkins 

"  That  policeman  wants  to  see  you,  sir,"  said  the 
doorman,  suddenly  appearing  at  his  elbow.  "  Says 
he  knows  you,  and  it's  somethin'  very  important." 

The  clubman  smothered  a  curse.  His  first  im 
pulse  was  to  tell  the  impudent  fellow  to  go  to  the 
devil,  but  then  he  thought  better  of  it.  He  had 
beaten  Conville  once,  and  he  would  do  so  again. 
When  it  came  to  a  show-down,  he  reckoned  his 
brains  were  about  as  good  as  a  policeman's. 

"  All  right,"  he  replied.  "  Tell  him  to  sit  down 
— that  I've  just  come  in,  and  will  be  with  him  in 
a  few  moments." 

'  Very  good,  sir,"  answered  the  servant. 

McAllister  perceived  that  he  must  think  rap 
idly.  There  was  no  escape  from  the  conclusion 
that  he  was  certainly  assisting  in  the  escape  of  a 
felon;  that  he  was  an  accessory  after  the  fact,  as 
it  were.  The  idea  did  not  increase  his  happiness 
at  all.  His  one  experience  in  the  Tombs,  how 
ever  adventitious,  had  been  quite  sufficient.  Never 
theless,  he  could  not  go  back  on  Wilkins,  particu 
larly  now  that  he  had  promised  to  assist  him.  Mc 
Allister  rubbed  his  broad  forehead  in  perplexity. 

'  The  officer  says  he's  in  a  great  hurry,  sir,  and 
wants  to  know  can  you  see  him  at  once,  sir,"  said 
the  doorman,  coming  back. 

"Hang  it!"  exclaimed  our  hero.  "  Yes,  I'll 
see  him." 

83 


The  Escape  of  Wilkins 

He  got  up  and  walked  slowly  to  the  visitors' 
room  again,  while  Peter,  with  a  studiously  uncon 
scious  expression,  held  the  portieres  open.  He  en 
tered,  prepared  for  the  worst.  As  he  did  so,  Con- 
ville  sprang  to  his  feet,  leaving  a  pool  of  water  in 
front  of  the  sofa  and  tossing  little  drops  of  rain 
from  the  ends  of  his  mustache. 

"  Look  here,  Mr.  McAllister,  there's  been 
enough  of  this.  Where's  Welch,  the  crook,  who 
ran  in  here  a  few  moments  ago?  Oh,  he's  here 
fast  enough!  I've  got  your  club  covered,  front 
and  behind.  Don't  try  to  con  me!  " 

McAllister  slowly  adjusted  his  monocle,  smiled 
affably,  and  sank  comfortably  into  an  armchair. 

"  Why,  it's  you,  Baron,  isn't  it!  How  are  you? 
Won't  you  have  a  little  nip  of  something  warm? 
No?  A  cigar,  then.  Here,  Peter,  bring  the  gen 
tleman  an  Obsequio.  Well,  to  what  do  I  owe  this 
honor?" 

Conville  glared  at  him  enraged.  However,  he 
restrained  his  wrath.  A  wise  detective  never  puts 
himself  at  a  disadvantage  by  giving  way  to  useless 
emotion.  When  Peter  returned  with  the  cigar, 
Barney  took  it  mechanically  and  struck  a  match, 
meanwhile  keeping  one  eye  upon  the  door  of  the 
club. 

"  I  suppose,"  he  presently  remarked,  "  you  think 
you're  smart.  Well,  you're  mistaken.  I  had  you 

84 


The  Escape  of  Wilkins 

wrong  last  night,  I  admit — that  is,  so  far  as  your 
identity  was  concerned.  You're  a  real  high-roller, 
all  right,  but  that  ain't  the  whole  thing,  by  a  long 
shot.  How  would  you  like  to  wander  down  to 
Headquarters  as  an  accomplice?  " 

A  few  chills  played  hide-and-seek  around  the 
base  of  the  clubman's  spine. 

"Don't  be  an  ass!"  he  finally  managed  to 
ejaculate. 

"  Oh,  I  can't  connect  you  with  the  necklace! 
You're  safe  enough  there,"  Barney  continued. 
"  But  how  about  this  little  game  right  here  in  this 
club?  You're  aiding  in  the  escape  of  a  felon. 
That's  felony.  You  know  that  yourself.  Be 
sides,  when  you  locked  me  in  the  bath-room 
last  night  you  assaulted  an  officer  in  the  per 
formance  of  his  duty.  I've  got  you  dead  to  rights, 
seef" 

McAllister  laughed  lightly. 

"  By  jiminy!  "  he  exclaimed,  "  I  thought  you 
were  crazy  all  the  time,  and  now  I  know  it.  What 
in  thunder  are  you  driving  at?  " 

Conville  knocked  the  ashes  off  his  cigar  im 
patiently. 

"  Drivin'  at?  Drivin'  at?  Where's  Welch- 
Fatty  Welch,  that  ran  in  here  five  minutes  ago?  " 

McAllister  assumed  a  puzzled  expression. 

"Welch?     No  one  ran  in  here  except  myself. 


The  Escape  of  Wilkins 

/  came  in  about  that  time.  Got  off  the  L  at  Fif 
tieth  Street,  footed  it  pretty  fast  up  Sixth  Avenue, 
and  then  through  Fifty-third  Street  to  the  club.  I 
got  mighty  well  wet,  too,  I  tell  you !  " 

"  Don't  think  you  can  throw  that  game  into 
me! "  shouted  Conville.  "  You  can't  catch  me 
twice  that  way.  It  was  Welch  I  saw,  not  you." 

'  You  don't  believe  me?  " 

McAllister  pressed  the  bell  and  Peter  entered. 

"  Peter,  tell  this  gentleman  how  many  persons 
have  come  into  the  club  within  the  hour." 

"  Why,  only  you,  sir,"  replied  Peter,  without 
hesitation.  "  Your  clothes  was  wringin'  wet,  sir. 
No  one  else  has  entered  the  club  since  twelve 
o'clock." 

"  Bah!  "  exclaimed  Conville.  u  If  it  was  you 
that  came  in,"  he  added  cunningly,  "  suppose  you 
show  me  your  check,  and  let  me  have  a  look  at  your 
coat!" 

"  Certainly,"  responded  McAllister,  beginning 
to  regain  his  equanimity,  as  he  drew  Wilkins's 
check  from  his  pocket.  "  Here  it  is.  You  can 
step  over  and  get  the  coat  for  yourself." 

Barney  seized  the  small  square  of  brass,  crossed 
to  the  coat-room,  and  returned  with  the  dripping 
garment,  which  he  held  up  to  the  light  at  the 
window. 

"  You  ought  to  find  Poole's  name  under  the 
86 


The  Escape  of  Wilkins 

collar,  and  my  own  inside  the  breast-pocket," 
remarked  Chubby  encouragingly.  "  It's  there, 
isn't  it?" 

Conville  threw  the  soaked  object  over  a  chair- 
back  and  made  a  rapid  inspection,  then  turned  to 
McAllister  with  an  expression  of  bewilderment. 

"  I — you — how — "  he  stammered. 

"  Don't  you  remember,"  laughed  his  tormentor, 
"  that  there  was  a  big  truck  on  the  corner  of  Sixth 
Avenue?  " 

Barney  set  hJs  teeth. 

"  I  see  you  do"  continued  McAllister.  "  Well, 
what  more  can  I  do  for  you?  Are  you  sure  you 
won't  have  that  drink?  " 

But  Conville  was  in  no  mood  for  drinking. 
Stepping  up  to  the  clubman,  he  looked  searchingly 
down  into  his  face. 

"  Mr.  McAllister,"  he  hissed,  "  you  think  you've 
got  me  criss-crossed.  You  think  you're  a  sure 
winner.  But  I  know  you.  I  know  your  face. 
And  this  time  I  don't  lose  you,  see?  You're  in 
cahoots  with  Welch.  You're  his  side-partner. 
You'll  see  me  again.  Remember,  you're  a  com- 
mon  felon." 

The  detective  made  for  the  door. 

"  Don't  say  '  common,'  "  murmured  McAllis 
ter,  as  Conville  disappeared.  Then  his  nonchalant 
look  gave  place  to  one  of  extreme  dejection. 

87 


The  Escape  of  Wilkins 

"  Peter,"  he  gasped,  "  tell  Mr.  Lloyd- Jones  I  must 
see  him  at  once." 

Peter  soon  returned  with  the  unexpected  infor 
mation  that  "  Mr.  Lloyd- Jones  "  had  gone  to  bed 
and  wouldn't  get  up. 

"  Says  he's  sick,  sir,"  said  Peter,  trying  hard  to 
retain  his  gravity. 

McAllister  made  one  jump  for  the  elevator. 
Peter  followed.  Of  course,  he  had  known  Wil 
kins  when  the  latter  was  in  McAllister's  employ. 

"  I  put  him  in  No.  13,  sir,"  remarked  the 
majordomo. 

Sure  enough,  Wilkins  was  in  bed.  His  clothes 
were  nowhere  visible,  and  the  quilt  was  pulled 
well  up  around  his  fat  neck.  He  seemed  utterly 
to  have  lost  his  nerve. 

"  Oh,  sir !  "  he  cried  apologetically,  "  I  was 
hafraid  to  come  down,  sir.  Without  my  clothes 
they  never  could  hidentify  me,  sir!  " 

"What  on  earth  have  you  done  with  'em?" 
cried  his  master. 

"Oh,  Mr.  McAllister!"  wailed  Wilkins,  "  I 
couldn't  think  o'  nothin'  else,  so  I  just  threw  'em 
hout  the  window,  into  the  hairshaft." 

At  this  intelligence  Peter,  who  had  lingered  by 
the  door,  choked  violently  and  retired  down  the 
hall. 

"  Wilkins,"  exclaimed  McAllister,  "  I  never 
88 


The  Escape  of  Wilkins 

took  you  for  a  fool  before!     Pray,  what  do  you 
propose  to  do  now?  " 

"  I  don't  knew,  sir." 

"  Can't  you  see  what  an  awkward  position 
you've  placed  me  in  ?  "  went  on  McAllister.  "  I'm 
liable  to  arrest  for  aidin'  in  your  escape.  In  fact, 
that  detective  has  just  threatened  to  take  me  to 
Headquarters." 

"  'Oly  Moses!  "  moaned  Wilkins.  "  Oh,  wot 
shall  I  do?  If  you  honly  get  me  haway,  sir,  I 
promise  you  I'll  never  return." 

McAllister  closed  the  door,  sat  down  by  the  bed, 
and  puffed  hard  at  his  cigar. 

"  I'll  try  it!  "  he  muttered  at  length.  "Wil 
kins,  you  remember  you  always  wore  my  clothes." 

"  Yes,  sir,"  sighed  Wilkins. 

"  Well,  to-night  you  shall  leave  the  club  in  my 
dress-suit,  tall  hat,  and  Inverness — understand? 
You'll  take  a  cab  from  here  at  eleven-forty.  Go 
to  the  Grand  Central  and  board  the  twelve  o'clock 
train  for  Boston.  Here's  a  ticket,  and  the  check 
for  the  drawing-room.  You'll  be  Mr.  McAllister 
of  the  Colophon  Club,  if  anyone  speaks  to  you. 
You're  going  on  to  Mr.  Cabot's  wedding  to 
morrow,  to  act  as  best  man.  Turn  in  as  soon  as 
you  go  on  board,  and  don't  let  anyone  disturb  you. 
I'll  be  on  the  train  myself,  and  after  it  starts  I'll 
knock  three  times  on  the  door." 

89 


The  Escape  of  Wilkins 

'  Very  good,  sir,"  murmured  Wilkins. 

"  I'll  send  to  my  rooms  for  the  clothes  at  once. 
Do  you  think  you  can  do  it?  " 

"  Oh,  certainly,  sir !  Thank  you,  sir  1  I'll  be 
there,  sir,  never  fail." 

"  Well,  good  luck  to  you." 

McAllister  returned  to  the  big  room  downstairs. 
The  longer  he  thought  of  his  plan  the  better  he 
liked  it.  He  was  going  to  the  Winthrops'  Twelfth 
Night  party  that  evening  as  Henry  VIII.  He 
would  dress  at  the  club  and  leave  it  in  costume 
about  nine  o'clock.  Conville  would  never  recog 
nize  him  in  doublet  and  hose,  and,  when  Wilkins 
departed  at  eleven-forty,  would  in  all  likelihood 
take  the  latter  for  McAllister.  If  he  could  thus 
get  rid  of  his  ex-valet  for  good  and  all  it  would 
be  cheap  at  twice  the  trouble.  So  far  as  spiriting 
away  Wilkins  was  concerned  the  whole  thing 
seemed  easy  enough,  and  McAllister,  once  more  in 
his  usual  state  of  genial  placidity,  ordered  as  good 
a  dinner  as  the  chef  could  provide. 


II 

The  revelry  was  at  its  height  when  Henry  VIII 
realized  with  a  start  that  it  was  already  half  after 
eleven.  First  there  had  been  a  professional  pres 
entation  of  the  scene  between  Sir  Andrew  Ague- 

90 


The  Escape  of  Wilkins 

cheek  and  Sir  Toby  Belch  that  had  made  McAl 
lister  shake  with  merriment.  He  thought  Sir  An 
drew  the  drollest  fellow  that  he  had  seen  for  many 
a  day.  Maria  and  the  clown  were  both  good, 
too.  McAllister  had  a  fleeting  wish  that  he  had 
essayed  Sir  Toby.  The  champagne  had  been  ex 
cellent  and  the  characters  most  amusing,  and, 
altogether,  McAllister  did  not  blame  himself  for 
having  overstayed  his  time — in  fact,  he  didn't  care 
much  whether  he  had  or  not.  He  had  intended 
going  back  to  his  rooms  for  the  purpose  of  chang 
ing  his  costume,  but  he  had  plenty  of  clothes  on  the 
train,  and  there  really  seemed  no  need  of  it  at  all. 
He  bade  his  hostess  good-night  in  a  most  optimistic 
frame  of  mind  and  hailed  a  cab.  The  long  ulster 
which  he  wore  entirely  concealed  his  costume  save 
for  his  shoes,  strange  creations  of  undressed 
leather,  red  on  the  uppers  and  white  between  the 
toes.  As  for  his  cap  and  feather,  he  was  quite 
too  happy  to  mind  them  for  an  instant.  The  as 
sembled  crowd  of  lackeys  and  footmen  cheered  him 
mildly  as  he  drove  away,  but  Henry  VIII,  smok 
ing  a  large  cigar,  noticed  them  not.  Neither  did 
he  observe  a  slim  young  man  who  darted  out  from 
behind  a  flight  of  steps  and  followed  the  cab,  keep 
ing  about  half  a  block  in  the  rear.  The  rain  had 
stopped.  The  clouds  had  drawn  aside  their  cur 
tains,  and  a  big  friendly  moon  beamed  down  on 


The  Escape  of  Wilkins 

McAllister  from  an  azure  sky,  bright  almost  as 
day. 

The  cabman  hit  up  his  pace  as  they  reached  the 
slope  from  the  Cathedral  down  Fifth  Avenue,  and 
the  runner  was  distanced  by  several  blocks.  Mc 
Allister,  happy  and  sleepy,  was  blissfully  uncon 
scious  of  being  an  actor  in  a  drama  of  vast  import 
to  the  New  York  police,  but  as  they  reached  Forty- 
third  Street  he  saw  by  the  illuminated  clock  upon 
the  Grand  Central  Station  that  it  was  two  minutes 
to  twelve.  At  the  same  moment  a  trace  broke. 
The  driver  sprang  from  his  seat,  but  before  he 
could  reach  the  ground  McAllister  had  leaped  out. 
Tossing  a  bill  to  the  perturbed  cabby,  our  hero 
threw  off  his  ulster  and  sped  with  an  agility  mar 
vellous  to  behold  down  Forty-third  Street  toward 
the  station.  As  he  dashed  across  Madison  Ave 
nue,  directly  in  front  of  an  electric  car,  the  hand 
on  the  clock  slipped  a  minute  nearer.  At  that 
instant  the  slim  man  turned  the  corner  from  Fifth 
Avenue  and  redoubled  his  speed.  Thirty  seconds 
later,  McAllister,  in  sword,  doublet,  hose,  and 
feathered  cap,  burst  into  the  waiting-room,  carry 
ing  an  ulster,  clearing  half  its  length  in  six  strides, 
threw  himself  through  the  revolving  door  to  the 
platform,  and  sprang  past  the  astonished  gate-man 
just  as  he  was  sliding-to  the  gate. 

"  Hi,  there,  give  us  yer  ticket !  "  yelled  the  man 
92 


The  Escape  of  Wilkins 

after  the  retreating  form  of  Henry  VIII,  but  roy 
alty  made  no  response. 

The  gate  closed,  a  gong  rang  twice,  somewhere 
up  ahead  an  engine  gave  half  a  dozen  spasmodic 
coughs,  and  the  forward  section  of  the  train  began 
to  pull  out.  McAllister,  gasping  for  breath,  a 
terrible  pain  in  his  side,  his  ulster  seeming  to  weigh 
a  thousand  pounds,  stumbled  upon  the  platform 
of  the  car  next  the  last.  As  he  did  so,  the  slim 
young  man  rushed  to  the  gate  and  commenced  to 
beat  frantically  upon  it.  The  gate-man,  indig 
nant,  approached  to  make  use  of  severe  language. 

"  Open  this  gate!  "  yelled  the  man.  "  There's 
a  burglar  in  disguise  on  that  train.  Didn't  you 
see  him  run  through?  Open  up!  " 

'  Whata  yer  givin'  us?"  answered  Gate. 
"  Who  are  yer,  anyhow?  " 

"  I'm  a  detective  sergeant!  "  shrieked  the  one 
outside,  excitedly  exhibiting  a  shield.  "  I  order 
you  to  open  this  gate  and  let  me  through." 

Gate  looked  with  exasperating  deliberateness 
after  the  receding  train;  its  red  lights  were  just 
passing  out  of  the  station. 

"  Oh,  go  to  — !  "  said  he  through  the  bars. 

"Is  this  car  2241?"  inquired  the  breathless 
McAllister  at  the  same  moment,  as  he  staggered 
inside. 

93 


The  Escape  of  Wilkins 

"  Sho,  boss,"  replied  the  porter,  grinning  from 
ear  to  ear  as  he  received  the  ticket  and  its  accom 
panying  half-dollar.  "  Drawin'-room,  sah?  Yes- 
sah.  Right  here,  sah!  Yo'  frien',  he  arrived 
some  time  ago.  May  Ah  enquire  what  personage 
yo  represent,  sah?  A  most  magnificent  sword, 
sah!" 

"Where's  the  smoking  compartment?"  asked 
McAllister. 

"Udder  end,  sah!" 

Now  McAllister  had  no  inclination  to  feel  his 
way  the  length  of  that  swaying  car.  He  perceived 
that  the  smoking  compartment  of  the  car  behind 
would  naturally  be  much  more  convenient. 

"  I'm  going  into  the  next  car  to  smoke  for 
a  while,"  he  informed  the  darky. 

No  one  was  in  the  smoking  compartment  of  the 
Benvolio,  which  was  bright  and  warm,  and  Mc 
Allister,  throwing  down  his  ulster,  stretched  lux 
uriously  across  the  cushions,  lit  a  cigar,  and  watched 
with  interest  the  myriad  lights  of  the  Greater  City 
marching  past,  those  near  at  hand  flashing  by  with 
the  velocity  of  meteors,  and  those  beyond  swing 
ing  slowly  forward  along  the  outer  rim  of  the 
circle.  And  the  idea  of  this  huge  circle,  its  cir 
cumference  ever  changing  with  the  forward  move 
ment  of  its  pivot,  beside  which  the  train  was  rush 
ing,  never  passing  that  mysterious  edge  which  fled 

94 


The  Escape  of  Wilkins 

before  them  into  infinity,  took  hold  on  McAllis 
ter's  imagination,  and  he  fancied,  as  he  sped  on 
ward,  that  in  some  mysterious  way,  if  he  could 
only  square  that  circle  or  calculate  its  radius,  he 
could  solve  the  problem  of  existence.  What  was 
it  he  had  learned  when  a  boy  at  St.  Andrew's  about 
the  circle?  Pi  R — one — two — two  Pi  R!  That 
was  it!  "  2irr."  The  smoke  from  his  cigar 
swirled  thickly  around  the  Pintsch  light  in  the  ceil 
ing,  and  Henry  VIII,  oblivious  of  the  anachron 
ism,  with  his  sword  and  feathered  cap  upon  the  sofa 
beside  him,  gazed  solemnly  into  space. 

"  Br-r-clink! — br-r-clink!  "  went  the  track. 

"  Two  Pi  R !  "  murmured  McAllister.  "  Two 
PiR!" 

Ill 

Under  the  big  moon's  yellow  disk,  beside  and 
past  the  roaring  train,  along  the  silent  reaches  of 
the  Sound,  leaping  on  its  copper  thread  from  pole 
to  pole,  jumping  from  insulator  to  insulator,  from 
town  to  town,  sped  a  message  concerning  Henry 
VIII.  The  night  operator  at  New  Haven,  dozing 
over  a  paper  in  the  corner,  heard  his  call  four 
times  before  he  came  to  his  senses.  Then  he  sent 
the  answer  rattling  back  with  a  simulation  of  indig* 
nation : 

"Yes,  yes!     What's  your  rush?" 
95 


The  Escape  of  Wilkins 

Special — Police — Headquarters — New  Haven.  Escaped  ex- 
convict  Welch  on  No.  1 3  from  New  York.  Notify  McGinnis. 
In  complete  disguise.  Arrest  and  notify.  Particulars  long 
distance  'phone  in  morning.  EBSTEIN. 

The  operator  crossed  the  room  and  unhooked 
the  telephone. 

"  Headquarters,  please." 

"  Yes.  Headquarters !  Is  McGinnis  of  the 
New  York  Detective  Bureau  there?  Tell  him 
he's  wanted,  to  make  an  important  arrest  on  board 
No.  13  when  she  comes  through  at  two-twenty. 
Sorry.  Say,  tell  him  to  bring  along  some  cigars. 
I'll  give  him  the  complete  message  down  here." 

Then  the  operator  went  back  to  his  paper.  In 
a  few  moments  he  suddenly  sat  up. 

"  By  gum!  "  he  ejaculated. 

BOLD   ATTEMPT   AT   BURGLARY  IN   COUNTRY 
HOUSE 

It  was  learned  to-day  that  a  well-known  crook  had  been 
successful  recently  in  securing  a  position  as  a  servant  at  Mr. 
Gordon  Blair's  at  Scarsdale.  Last  evening  one  of  the  guests 
missed  her  valuable  pearl  necklace.  In  the  excitement  which 
followed  the  burglar  made  his  escape,  leaving  the  necklace 
behind  him.  The  perpetrator  of  this  bold  attempt  is  the  noto 
rious  Fatty  Welch,  now  wanted  in  several  States  as  a  fugitive 
from  justice. 

"  By  gum !  "  repeated  the  operator,  throwing 
down  the  paper.  Then  he  went  to  the  drawer  and 

96 


The  Escape  of  Wilkins 

took  out  a  small  bull-dog  revolver,  which  he  care 
fully  loaded. 

"Br-r-clink! — br-r-clink!  "  went  the  track,  as 
the  train  swung  round  the  curve  outside  New 
Haven.  The  brakes  groaned,  the  porters  waked 
from  troubled  slumbers  in  wicker  chairs,  one  or  two 
old  women  put  out  their  arms  and  peered  through 
the  window-shades,  and  the  train  thundered  past 
the  depot  and  slowly  came  to  a  full  stop.  Ahead, 
the  engine  panted  and  steamed.  Two  gnomes  ran, 
Mimi-like,  out  of  a  cavernous  darkness  behind  the 
station  and  by  the  light  of  flaring  torches  began 
to  hammer  and  tap  the  flanges.  The  conductor, 
swinging  off  the  rear  car,  ran  into  the  embrace  of 
a  huge  Irishman.  At  the  same  moment  a  squad  of 
policemen  separated  and  scattered  to  the  different 
platforms. 

"  Here !  Let  me  go !  "  gasped  the  conductor. 
"What's  all  this?" 

"  Say,  Cap.,  I'm  McGinnis — Central  Office, 
New  York.  You've  got  a  burglar  on  board. 
They're  after  wirin'  me  to  make  the  arrest." 

"  Burglar  be  damned !  "  yelled  the  conductor. 
''  Do  you  think  you  can  hold  me  up  and  search  my 
train?  Why,  I'd  be  two  hours  late!  " 

"  I  won't  take  more'n  fifteen  minutes,"  continued 
McGinnis,  making  for  the  rear  car. 

"  Come  back  there,  you !  "  shouted  the  conduc- 
97 


The  Escape  of  Wilkins 

tor,  grasping  him  firmly  by  the  coat-tails.  "  You 
can't  wake  up  all  the  passengers." 

"  Look  here,  Cap.,"  expostulated  the  detective, 
"  don't  ye  see  I've  got  to  make  this  arrest?  It 
won't  take  a  minute.  The  porters'll  know  who 
they've  got,  and  you're  runnin'  awful  light.  Have 
a  good  cigar?  " 

The  conductor  took  the  weed  so  designated  and 
swore  loudly.  It  was  the  biggest  piece  of  gall  on 
record.  Well,  hang  it !  he  didn't  want  to  take  Mc- 
Ginnis  all  the  way  to  Boston,  and  even  if  he  did, 
there  would  be  the  same  confounded  mix-up  at 
the  other  end.  He  admitted  finally  that  it  was 
a  fine  night.  Did  McGinnis  want  a  nip?  He 
had  a  bottle  in  the  porter's  closet.  Yes,  call 
out  those  niggers  and  make  'em  tell  what  they 
knew. 

The  conductor  was  now  just  as  insistent  that  the 
burglar  should  be  arrested  then  and  there  as  he  had 
been  before  that  the  train  should  not  be  held  up. 
He  rushed  through  the  cars  telling  the  various 
porters  to  go  outside.  Eight  or  ten  presently  as 
sembled  upon  the  platform.  They  filled  McGin 
nis  with  unspeakable  repulsion. 

The  conductor  began  with  car  No.  2204. 

"  Now,  Deacon,  who  have  you  got?  " 

The  Deacon,  an  enormously  fat  darky,  rolled 
his  eyes  and  replied  that  he  had  "  two  ole  women 

98 


The  Escape  of  Wilkins 

an'  er  gen'elman  gwine  ortermobublin  with  his 
cheffonier." 

The  conductor  opined  that  these  would  prove 
unfertile  candidates  for  McGinnis.  He  therefore 
turned  to  Moses,  of  car  No.  2201.  Moses,  how 
ever,  had  only  half  a  load.  There  was  a  fat  man, 
a  Mr.  Huber,  who  travelled  regularly;  two  ladies 
on  passes;  and  a  very  thin  man,  with  his  wife,  her 
sister,  a  maid,  two  nurses,  and  three  children. 

"  Nothin'  doin' !  "  remarked  the  captain. 
11  Now,  Colonel,  what  have  you  got?  " 

But  the  Colonel,  a  middle-aged  colored  man  of 
aristocratic  appearance,  had  an  easy  answer.  His 
entire  car  was  full,  as  he  expressed  it,  "  er  frogs." 

"  Frenchmen !  "  grunted  McGinnis. 

The  conductor  remembered.  Yes,  they  were 
Sanko's  Orchestra  going  on  to  give  a  matinee  con 
cert  in  Providence. 

The  next  car  had  only  five  drummers,  every  one 
of  whom  was  known  to  the  conductor,  as  taking 
the  trip  twice  a  week.  They  were  therefore 
counted  out.  That  left  only  one  car,  No.  2205. 

"  Well,  William,  what  have  you  got?  " 

William  grinned.  Though  sleepy,  he  realized 
the  importance  of  the  disclosure  he  was  about  to 
make  and  was  correspondingly  dignified  and  pon 
derous.  There  was  two  trabblin'  gen'elmen,  Mr. 
Smith  and  Mr.  Higgins.  He'd  handled  dose 

99 


The  Escape  of  Wilkins 

gen'elmen  fo'  several  years.  There  was  a  very 
old  lady,  her  daughter  and  maid.  Then  there  was 
Mr.  Uberheimer,  who  got  off  at  Middletown. 
And  then — William  smiled  significantly — there 
was  an  awful  strange  pair  in  the  drawin'-room. 
They  could  look  for  themselves.  He  didn't  know 
nuff'n  'bout  burglars  in  disguise,  but  dere  was  "  one 
of  'em  in  er  mighty  curious  set  er  fixtures." 

"  Huh !  Two  of  'em !  "  commented  Mc- 
Ginnis. 

'  That's  easy !  "  remarked  the  mollified  conduc 
tor. 

The  telegraph  operator,  who  read  Laura  Jean 
Libbey,  now  approached  with  his  revolver. 

McGinnis,  another  detective,  and  the  conductor 
moved  toward  the  car.  William  preferred  the 
safety  of  the  platform  and  the  temporary  distinc 
tion  of  being  the  discoverer  of  the  fugitive.  No 
light  was  visible  in  the  drawing-room,  and  the 
sounds  of  heavy  slumber  were  plainly  audible. 
The  conductor  rapped  loudly;  there  was  no  re 
sponse.  He  rattled  the  door  and  turned  the 
handle  vigorously,  but  elicited  no  sign  of  recogni 
tion.  Then  McGinnis  rapped  with  his  knife  on 
the  glass  of  the  door.  He  happened  to  hit  three 
times.  Immediately  there  were  sounds  within. 
Something  very  much  like  "  All  right,  sir,"  and  the 
door  was  opened.  The  conductor  and  McGinnis 

100 


The  Escape  of  Wilkins 

saw  a  fat  man,  in  blue  silk  pajamas,  his  face  flushed 
and  his  eyes  heavy  with  sleep,  who  looked  at  them 
in  dazed  bewilderment. 

'  Wot  do  you  want?  "  drawled  the  fat  man, 
blinking  at  the  lantern. 

"  Sorry  to  disturb  you,"  broke  in  McGinnis 
briskly,  "  but  is  there  any  wan  else,  beside  ye,  to 
kape  ye  company?  " 

Wilkins  shook  his  head  with  annoyance  and 
made  as  if  to  close  the  door,  but  the  detective  thrust 
his  foot  across  the  threshold. 

"  Aisy  there !  "  he  remarked.  "  Conductor, 
just  turn  on  that  light,  will  ye?  " 

Wilkins  scrambled  heavily  into  his  berth,  and 
the  conductor  struck  a  match  and  turned  on  the 
Pintsch  light.  Only  one  bed  was  occupied,  and 
that  by  the  fat  man  in  the  pajamas.  On  the  sofa 
was  an  elegant  alligator-skin  bag  disclosing  a  row 
of  massive  silver-topped  bottles.  A  tall  silk  hat 
and  Inverness  coat  hung  from  a  hook,  and  a  suit 
of  evening  clothes,  as  well  as  a  business  suit  of 
fustian,  were  neatly  folded  and  lying  on  the  upper 
berth. 

At  this  vision  of  respectability  both  McGinnis 
and  the  conductor  recoiled,  glancing  doubtfully  at 
one  another.  Wilkins  saw  his  advantage. 

"  May  I  hinquire,"  remarked  he,  with  dignity, 
"wot  you  mean  by  these  hactions?  W'y  am  I 

101 


The  Escape  of  Wilkins 

thus  disturbed  in  the  middle  of  the  night?     It  is 
houtrageous !  " 

'  Very    sorry,     sir,"     replied    the    conductor. 
'  The  fact  is,  we  thought  two  people,  suspicious 
characters,  had  taken  this  room  together,  and  this 
officer  here  " — pointing  to  McGinnis — "  had  or 
ders  to  arrest  one  of  them." 

Wilkins  swelled  with  indignation. 

"Suspicious  characters!  Two  people!  Look 
'ere,  conductor,  I'll  'ave  you  to  hunderstand  that  I 
will  not  tolerate  such  a  performance.  I  am  Mr. 
McAllister,  of  the  Colophon  Club,  New  York,  and 
I  am  hon  my  way  to  hattend  the  wedding  of  Mr. 
Frederick  Cabot  in  Boston,  to-morrow.  I  am  to 
be  'is  best  man.  Can  I  give  you  any  further  hin- 
formation?  " 

The  conductor,  who  had  noticed  the  initials 
"  McA  "  on  the  silver  bottle  heads,  and  the  same 
stamped  upon  the  bag,  stammered  something  in  the 
nature  of  an  apology. 

"  Say,  Cap.,"  whispered  McGinnis,  "  we've  got 
him  wrong,  I  guess.  This  feller  ain't  no  burglar. 
Anywan  can  see  he's  a  swell,  all  right.  Leave  him 
alone." 

"  Very  sorry  to  have  disturbed  you,"  apologized 
the  conductor  humbly,  putting  out  the  light  and 
closing  the  door. 

"  That  nigger  must  be  nutty  "  he  added  to  the 
102 


The  Escape  of  Wilkins 

detective.  "  By  Joshua!  Perhaps  he's  got  away 
with  some  of  my  stuff  1 

"  Look  here,  William,  what's  the  matter  with 
you  ?  Have  you  been  swipin'  my  whisky.  There 
ain't  two  men  in  that  drawin'-room  at  all — just 
one — a  swell,"  hollered  the  conductor  as  they 
reached  the  platform. 

"  Fo'  de  Lawd,  Cap'n,  I  ain't  teched  yo' 
whisky,"  cried  William  in  terror.  "  I  swear  dey 
was  two  of  'em,  'n'  de  udder  was  in  disguise.  It 
was  de  fines'  disguise  I  eber  saw !  "  he  added  rem- 
iriiscently. 

"  Aw,  what  yer  givin'  us!  "  exclaimed  McGin- 
nis,  entirely  out  of  patience.  "  What  kind  av  a 
disguise  was  he  in?  " 

"  Dat's  what  I  axed  him,"  explained  William, 
edging  toward  the  rim  of  the  circle.  "  I  done  ax 
him  right  away  what  character  he  done  represent. 
He  had  on  silk  stockin's,  an'  a  colored  deglishay 
shirt,  an'  a  belt  an'  moccasons,  an'  a  sword 


an' " 


"  A  sword!  "  yelled  McGinnis,  making  a  jump 
in  William's- direction.  "I'll  break  yer  black 
head  for  ye!  " 

"  Hold  on !  "  cried  the  conductor,  who  had 
disappeared  into  the  car  and  had  emerged  again 
with  a  bottle  in  his  hand.  "  The  stuff's  here." 

"  I  tell  ye  the  coon  is  drunk!  "  shouted  the  de- 
103 


The  Escape  of  Wilkins 

tective  in  angry  tones.  "  He  can't  make  small 
av  me!  " 

"  I  done  tole  you  the  trufe,"  continued  William 
from  a  safe  distance,  his  teeth  and  eyeballs  shining 
in  the  moonlight. 

"Well,  where  did  he  go?"  asked  the  conduc 
tor.  "  Did  you  put  him  in  the  drawin'-room  ?  " 

"  I  seen  his  ticket,"  replied  William,  "  an'  he 
said  he  wanted  to  smoke,  so  he  went  into  the  Ben- 
volio,  the  car  behin'." 

"Car  behind!"  cried  McGinnis.  "There 
ain't  no  car  behind.  This  here  is  the  last  car." 

"  Sure,"  said  the  conductor,  with  a  laugh;  "  we 
dropped  the  Benvolio  at  Selma  Junction  for  re 
pairs.  Say,  McGinnis,  you  better  have  that 
drink!" 

IV 

McAllister  was  awakened  by  a  sense  of  chill. 
The  compartment  was  dark,  save  for  the  pale  light 
of  the  moon  hanging  low  over  what  seemed  to  be 
water  and  the  masts  of  ships,  which  stole  in  and 
picked  out  sharply  the  silver  buckles  on  his  shoes 
and  the  buttons  of  his  doublet.  There  was  no 
motion,  no  sound.  The  train  was  apparently 
waiting  somewhere,  but  McAllister  could  not  hear 
the  engine.  He  put  on  his  ulster  and  stepped  to 

104 


The  Escape  of  Wilkins 

the  door  of  the  car.  All  the  lights  had  been  ex 
tinguished  and  he  could  hear  neither  the  sound  of 
heavy  breathing  nor  the  other  customary  evidences 
of  the  innocent  rest  of  the  human  animal.  He 
looked  across  the  platform  for  his  own  car  and 
found  that  the  train  had  totally  disappeared.  The 
Benvolio  was  stationary — side-tracked,  evidently, 
on  the  outskirts  of  a  town,  not  far  from  some 
wharves. 

"  Jiminy !  "  thought  McAllister,  looking  at  his 
uncheerful  surroundings  and  his  picturesque,  if 
somewhat  cool,  costume. 

For  a  moment  his  mental  processes  refused  to 
answer  the  heavy  draught  upon  them.  Then  he 
turned  up  his  coat-collar,  stepped  out  upon  the  plat 
form,  and  lit  a  cigar.  By  the  light  of  the  match 
he  looked  at  his  watch  and  saw  that  it  was 
four  o'clock.  Overhead  the  sky  glowed  with  thou 
sands  of  twinkling  stars,  and  the  moon,  just  touch 
ing  the  sea,  made  a  limpid  path  of  light  across  the 
water.  At  the  docks  silent  ships  lay  fast  asleep. 
A  mile  away  a  clock  struck  four,  intensifying  the 
stillness.  It  was  very  beautiful,  but  very  cold,  and 
McAllister  shivered  as  he  thought  of  Wilkins,  and 
Freddy  Cabot,  and  the  wedding  at  twelve  o'clock. 
So  far  as  he  knew  he  might  be  just  outside  of  Bos 
ton — Quincy,  or  somewhere — yet,  somehow,  the 
moon  didn't  look  as  if  it  were  at  Quincy. 

105 


The  Escape  of  Wilkins 

He  jumped  down  and  started  along  the  track. 
His  feet  stung  as  they  struck  the  cinder.  His 
whole  body  was  asleep.  It  was  easy  enough  to 
walk  in  the  direction  in  which  the  clock  had 
sounded,  and  this  he  did.  The  rails  followed  the 
shore  for  about  a  hundred  yards  and  then  joined 
the  main  line.  Presently  he  came  in  sight  of  a 
depot.  Every  now  and  then  his  sword  would  get 
between  his  legs,  and  this  caused  him  so  much  an 
noyance  that  he  took  it  off  and  carried  it.  It  was 
queer  how  uncomfortable  the  old  style  of  shoe  was 
when  used  for  walking  on  a  railroad  track.  His 
ruffle,  too,  proved  a  confounded  nuisance,  almost 
preventing  a  satisfactory  adjustment  of  coat-collar. 
Finally  he  untied  it  and  put  it  in  the  pocket  of  his 
ulster.  The  cap  was  not  so  bad. 

The  depot  had  inspired  the  clubman  with  dis 
tinct  hope,  but  as  he  approached,  it  appeared  as 
dark  and  tenantless  as  the  car  behind  him.  It  was 
impossible  to  read  the  name  of  the  station  owing 
to  the  fact  that  the  sign  was  too  high  up  for  the 
light  of  a  match  to  reach  it.  It  was  clear  that 
there  was  nothing  to  do  but  to  wait  for  the  dawn, 
and  he  settled  himself  in  a  corner  near  the  express 
office  and  tried  to  forget  his  discomfort. 

He  had  less  time  to  wait  than  he  had  expected. 
Soon  a  great  clattering  of  hoofs  caused  him  to 
climb  stiffly  to  his  feet  again.  Three  farmers' 

106 


The  Escape  of  Wilkins 

wagons,  each  drawn  by  a  pair  of  heavy  horses, 
backed  in  against  the  platform,  and  their  drivers, 
throwing  down  the  reins,  leaped  to  the  ground. 
All  were  smoking  pipes  and  chaffing  one  another 
loudly.  Then  they  began  to  unload  huge  cans  of 
milk.  This  looked  encouraging.  If  they  were 
bringing  milk  at  this  hour  there  must  be  a  train — 
going  somewhere.  It  didn't  matter  where  to  Mc 
Allister,  if  only  he  could  get  warm.  Presently  a 
faint  humming  came  along  the  rails,  which  stead 
ily  increased  in  volume  until  the  approaching  train 
could  be  distinctly  heard. 

"  Pretty  nigh  on  time,"  commented  the  nearest 
farmer. 

McAllister  stepped  forward,  sword  in  hand. 
The  farmer  involuntarily  drew  back. 

"Wall,  I  swan!"  he  remarked,  removing  his 
pipe. 

"  Do  you  mind  telling  me,"  inquired  our  friend, 
"  what  place  this  is  and  where  this  train  goes  to?  " 

"  I  reckon  not,"  replied  the  other.  "  This  is 
Selma  Junction,  and  this  here  train  is  due  in  New 
York  at  five.  Who  be  you  ?  " 

"  Well,"  answered  McAllister,  "  I'm  just  an 
humble  citizen  of  New  York,  forced  by  circum 
stances  to  return  to  the  city  as  soon  as  possible." 

"  Reckon  you're  one  o'  them  play-actors,  bean't 
ye?" 

107 


The  Escape  of  Wilkins 

"  You've  got  it,"  returned  McAllister.  "  Fact 
is,  I've  just  been  playing  Henry  VIII — on  the 
road." 

"  I've  heard  tell  on't,"  commented  the  rustic. 
"  But  I  ain't  never  seen  it.  Shakespeare,  ain't  it?  " 

"  Yes,  Shakespeare,"  admitted  the  clubman. 

At  this  moment  the  milk-train  roared  in  and  the 
teamsters  began  passing  up  their  cans.  There 
were  no  passenger  coaches — nothing  but  freight- 
cars  and  a  caboose.  Toward  this  our  friend  made 
his  way.  There  did  not  seem  to  be  any  conductor, 
and,  without  making  inquiries,  McAllister  climbed 
upon  the  platform  and  pushed  open  the  door.  If 
warmth  was  what  he  desired  he  soon  found  it. 
The  end  of  the  car  was  roughly  fitted  with  half  a 
dozen  bunks,  two  boxes  which  served  for  chairs, 
and  some  spittoons.  A  small  cast-iron  stove 
glowed  red-hot,  but  while  the  place  was  odorifer 
ous,  its  temperature  was  grateful  to  the  shivering 
McAllister.  The  car  was  empty  save  for  a  gigan 
tic  Irishman  sitting  fast  asleep  in  the  farther 
corner. 

Our  hero  laid  down  his  sword,  threw  off  his 
ulster,  and  hung  his  cap  upon  an  adjacent  hook. 
In  a  moment  or  two  the  train  started  again.  Still 
no  one  came  into  the  caboose.  Now  daylight 
began  to  filter  in  through  the  grimy  windows. 
The  sun  jumped  suddenly  from  behind  a  ridge  and 

108 


The  Escape  of  Wilkins 

shot  a  beam  into  the  face  of  the  sleeper  at  the  other 
end  of  the  car.  Slowly  he  awoke,  yawned,  rubbed 
his  eyes,  and,  catching  the  glint  of  silver  buttons, 
gazed  stupidly  in  McAllister's  direction.  The 
random  glance  gradually  gave  place  to  a  stare  of 
intense  amazement.  He  wrinkled  his  brows,  and 
leaned  forward,  scrutinizing  with  care  every  detail 
of  McAllister's  make-up.  The  train  stopped  for 
an  instant  and  a  burly  brakeman  banged  open  the 
door  and  stepped  inside.  He,  too,  hung  fire,  as  it 
were,  at  the  sight  of  Henry  VIII.  Then  he  broke 
into  a  loud  laugh. 

"  Who  in  thunder  are  you?  " 

Before  McAllister  could  reply  McGinnis,  with  a 
comprehensive  smile,  made  answer: 

"  Shure,  'tis  only  a  prisoner  I'm  after  takin'  back 
to  the  city !  " 

"  Mr.  McAllister,"  remarked  Conville,  two 
hours  later,  as  the  three  of  them  sat  in  the  visitors' 
room  at  the  club,  "  I  hope  you  won't  say  anything 
about  this.  You  see,  I  had  no  business  to  put  a 
kid  like  Ebstein  on  the  job,  but  I  was  clean  knocked 
out  and  had  to  snatch  some  sleep.  I  suppose  he 
thought  he  was  doin'  a  big  thing  when  he  nailed 
you  for  a  burglar.  But,  after  all,  the  only  thing 
that  saved  Welch  was  your  fallin'  asleep  in  the 
Benvolio." 

1109 


The  Escape  of  Wilkins 

"  My  dear  Baron,"  sympathetically  replied  Mc 
Allister,  who  had  once  more  resumed  his  ordinary 
attire,  "  why  attribute  to  chance  what  is  in  fact  due 
to  intellect?  No,  I  won't  mention  our  adventure, 
and  if  our  friend  McGinnis " 

"  Oh,  McGinnis'll  keep  his  head  shut,  all  right, 
you  bet !  "  interrupted  Barney.  "  But  say,  Mr. 
McAllister,  on  the  level,  you're  too  good  for  us. 
Why  don't  you  chuck  this  game  and  come  in  out  of 
the  rain?  You'll  be  up  against  it  in  the  end. 
Help  us  to  land  this  feller!  " 

McAllister  took  a  long  pull  at  his  cigar  and  half- 
closed  his  eyes.  There  was  a  quizzical  look 
around  his  mouth  that  Conville  had  never  seen 
there  before. 

"  Perhaps  I  will,"  said  he  softly.  "  Perhaps 
I  will." 

"Good!"  shouted  the  Baron;  "put  it  there! 
Now,  if  you  get  anything,  tip  us  off.  You  can 
always  catch  me  at  3100  Spring." 

"  Well,"  replied  the  clubman,  "  don't  forget  to 
drop  in  here,  if  you  happen  to  be  going  by.  Some 
time,  on  a  rainy  day  perhaps,  you  might  want  a 
nip  of  something  warm." 

But  to  this  the  Baron  did  not  respond. 

A  plunge  in  the  tank  and  a  comfortable  smoke 
almost  restored  McAllister's  customary  equanim 
ity.  Weddings  were  a  bore,  anyway.  Then  he 

no 


The  Escape  of  Wilkins 

called  for  a  telegraph  blank  and  sent  the  follow 
ing: 

Was  unavoidably  detained.  Terribly  disappointed.  If 
necessary,  use  Wilkins.  McA. 

To  which,  about  noon-time,  he  received  the  fol 
lowing  reply : 

Don't  understand.  Wilkins  arrived,  left  clothes  and 
departed.  You  must  have  mixed  your  dates.  Wedding 
to-morrow.  F.  C. 


Ill 


THE   GOVERNOR-GENERAL'S 
TRUNK 


The  Governor-General's 
Trunk 


MCALLISTER  was  in  the  tank.  His  puffing 
and  blowing  as  he  dove  and  tumbled  like  a 
contented,  rubicund  porpoise,  reverberated  loudly 
among  the  marble  pillars  of  the  bath  at  the  club. 
It  was  all  part  of  a  carefully  adjusted  and  as  rig 
orously  followed  regimen,  for  McAllister  was  a 
thorough  believer  in  exercise  (provided  it  was  mod 
erate)  ,  and  took  it  regularly,  averring  that  a  fellow 
couldn't  expect  to  eat  and  drink  as  much  as  he 
naturally  wanted  to  unless  he  kept  in  some  sort  of 
condition,  and  if  he  didn't  he  would  simply  get  off 
his  peck,  that  was  all.  Hence  "  Chubby  "  arose 
regularly  at  nine-thirty,  and  wrapping  himself  in 
a  padded  Japanese  silk  dressing-gown,  descended 
to  the  tank,  where  he  dove  six  times  and  swam 
around  twice,  after  which  he  weighed  himself  and 
had  Tim  rub  him  down.  Tim  felt  a  high  degree 
of  solicitude  for  all  this  procedure,  since  he  was  a 
personal  discovery  of  McAllister's,  and  owed  his 
present  exalted  position  entirely  to  the  clubman's 


Governor-General's  Trunk 

interest,  for  the  latter  had  found  him  at  Coney 
Island  earning  his  daily  bread  by  diving,  in  the 
presence  of  countless  multitudes,  into  a  six-foot 
glass  tank,  where  he  seated  himself  upon  the  bot 
tom  and  nonchalantly  consumed  a  banana.  Mc 
Allister's  delight  and  enthusiasm  at  this  elevating 
spectacle  had  been  boundless. 

:<  Wish  I  could  do  any  one  thing  as  well  as  that 
feller  dives  down  and  eats  that  banana !  "  he  had 
confided  to  his  friend  Wainwright.  "  Sometimes  I 
feel  as  if  my  life  had  been  wasted!  "  The  upshot 
of  the  whole  matter  was  that  Tim  had  been  forth 
with  engaged  as  rubber  and  swimming  teacher  at 
the  club. 

McAllister  had  just  taken  his  fifth  plunge,  and 
was  floating  lazily  toward  the  steps,  when  Tim  ap 
peared  at  the  door  leading  into  the  dressing-rooms 
and  announced  that  a  party  wanted  to  speak  to  him 
on  the  'phone,  the  Lady  somebody,  evidently  a 
very  cantankerous  old  person,  who  was  in  the  devil 
of  a  hurry,  and  wouldn't  stand  no  waitin'. 

The  clubman  turned  over,  sputtered,  touched 
bottom,  and  arose  dripping  to  his  feet.  The  "  old 
person  "  on  the  wire  was  clearly  his  aunt,  Lady 
Lyndhurst,  and  he  knew  very  much  better  than  to 
irritate  her  when  she  was  in  one  of  her  tantrums. 
Still,  he  couldn't  imagine  what  she  wanted  with 
him  at  that  hour  of  the  morning.  She'd  been 

116 


Governor-General's  Trunk 

placid  enough  the  evening  before  when  he'd  left 
her  after  the  opera.  But  ever  since  she  had  mar 
ried  Lord  Lyndhurst  for  her  second  husband  ten 
years  before  she'd  been  getting  more  and  more 
dictatorial. 

'  Tell  her  I'm  in  this  beastly  tank;  awful  sorry 
I  can't  speak  with  her  myself,  don'cher  know,  and 
find  out  what  she  wants.  And  Tim — handle  her 
gently — it's  my  aunt." 

Tim  grinned  and  winked  a  comprehending  eye. 
As  McAllister  hurried  into  his  bath-robe  and  slip 
pers  he  wondered  more  and  more  why  she  had 
rung  him  up  so  early.  He  had  intended  calling 
on  her  after  breakfast,  any  way,  but  "  after  break 
fast  "  to  McAllister  meant  in  the  neighborhood  of 
twelve  o'clock,  for  the  meal  was  always  carefully 
ordered  the  evening  before  for  half-past  ten  the 
next  morning,  after  which  came  the  paper  and  a 
long,  light  Casadora,  crop  of  '97,  which  McAllis 
ter  had  bought  up  entire.  Something  must  be  up 
— that  was  certain.  He  could  imagine  her  in  her 
wrapper  and  curl-papers  holding  converse  with 
Tim  over  the  wire.  The  language  of  his  protege 
might  well  assist  in  the  process  for  which  the  curl 
papers  were  required.  There  was  nobody  in  the 
world,  in  McAllister's  opinion,  so  queer  as  his 
aunt,  except  his  aunt's  husband.  The  latter  was  a 
stout,  beefy  nobleman  of  sixty-five,  with  a  walrus- 

117 


Governor-General's  Trunk 

like  countenance,  an  implicit  faith  in  the  perfection 
of  British  institutions,  and  about  enough  intelli 
gence  to  drive  a  watering-cart.  He  had  been  re 
warded  for  his  unswerving  fidelity  to  party  with 
the  post  of  Governor-General  at  a  small  group  of 
islands  somewhere  near  the  equator,  and  had  as 
sumed  his  duties  solemnly  and  ponderously,  estab 
lishing  the  Bertillon  system  of  measurements  for 
the  seven  criminals  which  his  islands  supported, 
and  producing  quarterly  monographs  on  the  flora, 
fauna,  and  conchology  of  his  dominion.  Just  now 
they  were  en  route  for  England  (via  Quebec,  of 
course),  and  were  stopping  at  the  Waldorf. 

Tim  presently  reappeared. 

"  She  says  you've  got  to  hike  right  down  to  the 
hotel  as  fast  as  you  can.  She's  terrible  upset. 
My,  ain't  she  a  tiger?  " 

"  But  what's  the  bloomin'  row?  "  exclaimed  Mc 
Allister. 

Tim  looked  round  cautiously  and  lowered  his 
voice. 

"  The  Lyndhurst  Jewels  has  been  stole !  "  said 
he. 

II 

The  Lyndhurst  Jewels  stolen !  No  wonder 
Aunt  Sophia  had  seemed  peevish,  for  they  were 
the  treasured  heirlooms  of  her  husband's  family, 

118 


Governor-General's  Trunk 

cherished  and  guarded  by  her  with  anxious  eye. 
McAllister  had  always  said  the  old  man  was  an 
ass  to  go  lugging  'em  off  down  among  the  mangoes 
and  land-crabs,  but  the  Governor-General  liked 
to  have  his  lady  appear  in  style  at  Government 
House,  and  took  much  innocent  pleasure  in  aston 
ishing  the  natives  by  the  splendor  of  her  adorn 
ment.  The  jewelry,  however,  was  the  source  of 
unending  annoyance  to  himself,  Sophia,  and  every 
body  else,  for  it  was  always  getting  lost,  and  burg 
lar  scares  occurred  with  regularity  at  the  islands. 
It  had  been  still  intact,  however,  on  their  arrival 
in  New  York. 

The  clubman  found  his  uncle  and  aunt  sitting 
dejectedly  at  the  breakfast-table  in  the  Diplomatic 
Suite. 

The  atmosphere  of  gloom  struck  a  cold  chill  to 
our  friend's  centre  of  vivacity.  There  were  also 
evidences  of  a  domestic  misunderstanding.  His 
aunt  fidgeted  nervously,  and  his  uncle  evaded  Mc 
Allister's  eye  as  they  responded  half-heartedly  to 
his  cheerful  salutation.  That  the  matter  was  se 
rious  was  obvious.  Clearly  this  time  the  jewels 
must  be  really  gone.  In  addition,  both  the  Gov 
ernor-General  and  his  lady  kept  looking  over  their 
shoulders  fearfully,  as  if  dreading  the  momentary 
assault  of  some  assassin.  McAllister  inquired 
what  the  jolly  mess  was,  incidentally  suggesting 

119 


Governor-General's   Trunk 

that  their  hurry-call  had  deprived  him  of  any  at 
tempt  at  breakfast.  His  hint,  however,  fell  on 
barren  ground. 

"  That  fool  Morton  has  packed  all  the  jewelry 
in  the  big  Vuitton !  "  exclaimed  his  uncle,  nervously 
jabbing  his  spoon  into  a  grape-fruit.  "  To  say  the 
least,  it  was  excessively  careless  of  him,  for  he 
knows  perfectly  well  that  we  always  carry  it  in  the 
morocco  hand-bag,  and  never  allow  it  out  of  our 
sight."  The  Governor-General  paused,  and  took 
a  sip  of  coffee. 

"Well,"  said  McAllister,  rather  impatiently, 
"  why  don't  you  have  him  unpack  it,  then?  "  He 
couldn't  for  the  life  of  him  see  why  they  made 
such  a  row  about  a  thing  of  that  sort.  It  was 
clear  enough  that  they  were  both  more  than  half 
mad. 

"  Ah,  that's  the  point !  It  was  sent  to  the  sta 
tion  with  the  rest  of  the  luggage  last  evening. 
Heaven  knows  it  may  all  have  been  stolen  by  this 
time !  Think  of  it,  McAllister !  The  Lyndhurst 
Jewels,  secured  merely  by  a  miserable  brass  check 
with  a  number  on  it — and  the  railroad  liable  by 
express  contract  only  to  the  extent  of  one  hundred 
dollars!"  Before  Uncle  Basil  had  attained  his 
present  eminence  he  had  been  called  to  the  bar, 
and  his  book  on  "  Flotsam  and  Jetsam  "  is  still  an 
authority  in  those  regions  to  which  later  works 

120 


Governor-General's  Trunk 

have  not  penetrated.  "  You  see  we're  leaving  at 
three  this  afternoon,  but  why  send  it  all  so  early 
unless  for  a  purpose?  "  Lord  Lyndhurst  nodded 
conclusively.  He  had  the  air  of  one  who  had 
divined  something. 

Still  Chubby  failed  to  see  the  connection. 
Someone,  a  valet  evidently,  had  packed  the  jewelry 
in  the  wrong  place,  and  then  sent  the  load  off  a 
little  ahead  of  time.  What  of  it?  He  recalled 
vividly  an  occasion  when  the  jewels  had  been 
stuffed  by  mistake  into  the  soiled-clothes  basket, 
but  had  turned  up  safe  enough  at  the  end  of  the 
trip. 

"  If  that  is  all,"  replied  McAllister,  "  all  you 
have  to  do  is  to  send  your  man  over  to  the  station 
and  have  the  trunk  brought  back.  Send  the  fellow 
who  packed  the  trunk — this  Morton — whoever 
he  is." 

"  No,"  said  his  uncle,  studiously  knocking  in  the 
end  of  a  boiled  egg.  "  There  are  reasons.  I  wish 
you  would  go,  instead.  The  fact  is  I  don't  wish 
Morton  to  leave  the  rooms  this  morning;  I — I 
need  him."  Lord  Lyndhurst  again  evaded  the 
clubman's  inquiring  glance,  and  eyed  the  egg  in  an 
embarrassed  fashion. 

McAllister  laughed.  "  I  guess  your  jewelry's 
all  right,"  said  he  cheerfully.  "  Certainly  I'll  go. 
Don't  worry.  I'll  have  the  trunk  and  the  jewels 

121 


Governor-General's  Trunk 

back  here  inside  of  fifty  minutes.  Who's  Morton, 
anyhow?  " 

"  My  valet,"  replied  Lord  Lyndhurst,  lowering 
his  voice,  and  looking  over  his  shoulder.  "  You 
wouldn't  recall  him.  I  engaged  the  man  at  Kings 
ton  on  the  way  out.  As  a  servant  I  have  had  ab 
solutely  no  fault  to  find  at  all.  You  know  it's  very 
hard  to  get  a  good  man  to  go  to  the  Tropics,  but 
Morton  has  seemed  perfectly  contented.  Up  to 
the  present  time  I  haven't  had  the  slightest  reason 
to  suspect  his  honesty!  " 

;'  Well,  I  don't  see  that  you  have  any  now,"  said 
McAllister.  "  I  guess  I'll  start  along.  I  haven't 
had  anythin'  to  eat  yet.  Have  you  the  check?  " 

Uncle  Basil  gingerly  handed  him  the  bit  of  brass. 

"  I  secured  it  from  Morton,"  he  remarked,  at 
tacking  the  egg  viciously. 

"  Secured  it?  "  exclaimed  McAllister. 

The  Governor-General  nodded  ambiguously. 

Aunt  Sophia  during  the  course  of  the  recital  had 
become  almost  hysterical,  and  now  sat  wringing 
her  hands  in  the  greatest  agitation.  Suddenly  she 
broke  forth : 

"  I  told  Basil  he  had  been  too  hasty !  But  he 
would  have  it  that  there  was  nothing  else  to  do! 
Oh,  dear!  Oh,  dear!  Why  don't  you  tell  him 
what  you've  done?  " 

'  What  in  thunder  have  you  done?  "  asked  Mc- 
122 


Governor-General's  Trunk 

Allister,  now  convinced  beyond  peradventure  that 
his  uncle  was  a  candidate  for  the  nearest  insane 
asylum. 

Lord  Lyndhurst  became  very  red,  stammered, 
and  jerked  his  thumb  over  his  shoulder. 

"Yes,  secured  it!  Morton,  if  you  must  know 
it,  is  locked  in  the  clothes-closet.  I  locked  him !  " 

"  He's  in  there!  "  suddenly  wailed  Aunt  Sophia. 
"  Basil  put  him  in !  And  now  the  jewelry's  no 
one  knows  where,  and  there's  a  man  in  the  room, 
and  I'm  afraid  to  stay  and  Basil's  afraid  to  go  for 
fear  he  may  get  out,  and " 

She  was  interrupted  by  a  smothered  voice  that 
came  from  within  the  closet.  McAllister  was 
startled,  for  there  was  something  faintly,  vaguely 
familiar  about  it. 

"  It's  a  bloomin'  houtrage,  it  is !  Look  'ere, 
sir,  I'll  'ave  you  to  hunderstand  that  I  gives  notice 
at  once,  sir,  'ere  and  now,  sir!  It's  a  great  hin- 
dignity  you  are  a-puttin'  me  to,  sir!  Won't  you 
let  me  hout,  sir?  "  The  voice  ceased  momen 
tarily. 

"Isn't  it  awful!"  exclaimed  Aunt  Sophia. 
"  He's  been  like  that  for  over  an  hour!  " 

"  Yes !  "  added  Uncle  Basil.  "  At  times  he's 
been  actually  abusive."  But  McAllister  was  lost 
in  an  effort  to  recall  the  hazy  past.  Where  had 
he  heard  that  voice  before? 

123 


Governor-General's  Trunk 

"  'Ang  it,  sir !  Won't  you  let  me  hout,  sir," 
continued  Morton.  "  I'm  stiflin'  in  'ere,  an'  I 
thinks  there's  a  rat,  sir.  O  Lawd!  Let  me 
hout!" 

McAllister  jumped  to  his  feet.  Of  course  he 
recognized  the  voice!  Could  he  ever  forget  it? 
Had  anyone  ever  said  "  O  Lawd!  "  in  quite  the 
same  way  as  the  majestic  Wilkins?  It  could  be 
no  other!  By  George,  the  old  man  wasn't  such 
a  fool  after  all !  And  the  jewels !  He  smote  his 
fist  upon  the  table,  while  his  uncle  and  aunt  gazed 
at  him  apprehensively.  There  was  no  use  exciting 
their  fears,  however.  It  was  all  plain  to  him,  now. 
The  clever  dog!  Well,  the  first  thing  was  to  see 
what  had  become  of  the  jewels. 

"  Damn !  "  came  in  vigorous  tones  from  the 
closet,  as  Wilkins  endeavored  to  assert  himself. 
"It's  a  bloomin'  houtrage,  it  is!  I'll  'ave  you 
arrested  for  hassault  an'  bat'ry,  I  will,  if  you  are 
a  guv'nor!  Let  me  hout,  I  say!  " 


III 

McAllister  lost  no  time  in  getting  to  the 
Grand  Central  Station.  He  was  looking  for  a 
big  Vuitton  trunk,  and  he  wanted  to  find  it  quick. 
For  this  purpose  he  enlisted  the  services  of  a  burly 
young  porter,  who,  for  the  consideration  of  a  half- 

124 


Governor-General's  Trunk 

dollar,  piloted  the  clubman  through  the  crowded 
alleys  of  the  outgoing  baggage-room,  until  they 
came  upon  the  familiar  collection  of  Lord  Lynd- 
hurst's  paraphernalia  of  travel.  Eagerly  he  rec 
ognized  the  luggage  of  his  uncle's  official  house 
hold.  There  were  his  boot-boxes,  his  hat-boxes, 
his  portable  desk,  his  dumb-bells,  his  bath-tub,  his 
medicine  chest,  the  secretary's  trunk,  the  typewriter 
in  its  case ;  there  were  his  aunt's  basket  trunks,  and 
— yes — there  was  the  big  Vuitton.  McAllister 
heaved  a  sigh  of  relief.  The  next  thing  was  to 
get  it  back  to  the  hotel  as  fast  as  possible. 

"  That's  it,"  said  he  to  the  porter.  "  Heave 
it  out!  "  They  were  standing  in  a  little  open 
space  some  distance  from  the  entrance.  The  big 
Vuitton  lay  at  one  side,  and  about  it  a  row  of 
other  trunks  roughly  in  a  semicircle.  The  porter 
made  but  one  step  in  the  desired  direction,  then 
jumped  as  if  he  had  seen  a  ghost,  for  a  big  basket 
trunk,  standing  alone  upon  its  end  apart,  suddenly 
shook  violently,  its  lock  clicked,  the  cover  swung 
open,  and  out  jumped  a  slender,  sharp-featured 
young  man  with  a  black  mustache.  It  was  Barney 
Conville,  although  at  first  McAllister  failed  to 
recognize  him. 

"  Look  here  you !  Don't  touch  that  trunk !  "  he 
exclaimed.  Then  he  perceived  McAllister,  and  a 
look  of  intense  disgust  overspread  his  face. 

125 


Governor-General's  Trunk 

tjf 

"It's  the  Baron!"  ejaculated  McAllister. 
"  Now  what  the  devil  do  you  suppose  he's  been 
doin'  in  that  trunk?  Howd'y',  Baron,"  he  added 
pleasantly,  holding  out  his  hand.  u  Hardly  ex 
pected  to  see  you  here.  Do  you  take  your  rest  that 
way?  "  pointing  to  the  trunk  from  which  Conville 
had  emerged. 

The  detective  eyed  him  with  disapproval. 

"  Say,"  he  remarked,  disdainfully,  "  you  give 
me  a  pain — always  buttin'  in  an'  spoilln'  every- 
thin' !  This  here  is  a  plant.  I'm  waitin'  fer  a 
thief — Jerry,  the  Oyster.  They're  goin'  to  try  an' 
lift  that  big  striped  trunk  over  there.  It  belongs 
to  an  old  party  up  to  the  Waldorf.  He's  a  diplo- 
matico." 

"  He's  my  uncle !  "  cried  McAllister. 
.  "  Your  aunt!  "  snorted  Barney. 

"  But  I  want  to  take  that  trunk  back  with  me." 

"On  the  level?" 

"Sure!" 

"  Can't  help  it!  This  is  an  important  job. 
The  Oyster's  the  cleverest  thief  in  the  business. 
Works  in  with  all  the  butlers  and  valets.  Why 
he's  got  away  with  more'n  three  thousand  pieces 
of  baggage.  He's  the " 

Barney  did  not  finish  the  sentence.  Suddenly 
he  ducked,  and  grabbing  McAllister  by  the  shoul 
der,  pulled  him  down  with  him. 

126 


Governor-General's  Trunk 

"  There  he  is  now!  Into  the  trunk!  There's 
no  other  way!  Plenty  of  room!"  He  shoved 
his  fat  companion  inside  and  stepped  after  him. 
McAllister,  utterly  bewildered,  tried  to  convince 
himself  that  he  was  not  dreaming.  He  was  quite 
sure  he  had  taken  only  one  Scotch  that  morn 
ing,  but  he  pinched  himself,  and  was  relieved  to 
get  the  proper  reaction.  When  he  became  used 
to  the  dim  light  he  discovered  that  he  was  en 
sconced  in  a  dress-box  of  immense  proportions, 
made  of  basket  work,  and  covered  with  water 
proofing.  Placed  on  end,  with  a  seat  across 
the  middle,  it  afforded  a  very  comfortable  place 
of  concealment.  Conville  turned  the  key  and 
locked  the  cover.  Then  he  poked  McAllister  in 
the  ribs. 

"  Great  joint,  ain't  it?  Idee  of  the  cap's. 
Makes  a  fine  plant,"  he  whispered,  affixing  his  eye 
to  a  narrow  slit  near  the  top. 

"  Sh-h!  "  he  added;  "  he's  here.  There's  an 
other  peeper  over  on  your  side." 

McAllister  followed  his  example,  gluing  his  eye 
to  the  improvised  window,  and  discovered  that 
they  commanded  the  approach  to  the  big  Vuitton. 
And  inside  that  innocent  piece  of  luggage  reposed 
the  glory  of  his  uncle's  family,  the  heirlooms  of 
four  centuries!  He  made  an  involuntary  move 
ment. 

127 


Governor-General's  Trunk 

"  Keep  still!  "  hissed  Conville,  and  McAllister 
sank  back  obediently. 

A  young  Anglican  clergyman  in  shovel-hat  and 
gaiters,  carrying  a  dainty  silver-headed  umbrella 
in  one  hand  and  a  copy  of  The  Churchman  in  the 
other,  had  approached  the  counter.  He  seemed 
somewhat  at  a  loss,  gazed  vaguely  about  him  for  a 
moment,  and  then  stepping  up  to  the  head  baggage 
man,  an  oldish  man  with  white  whiskers,  addressed 
him  anxiously. 

"  I  say,  my  man,  I'm  really  in  an  awful  mess, 
don't  you  know!  I  don't  see  my  box  anywhere. 
I  sent  it  over  from  the  hotel  early  this  morning, 
and  I'm  leavin'  for  Montreal  at  three.  The  lug 
gage-man  says  it  was  left  here  by  ten  o'clock.  Do 
you  keep  all  the  boxes  in  this  room  ?  " 

The  head  bagage-man  nodded. 

"  Sorry  you've  lost  your  trunk,"  said  he.  "  If 
it  ain't  here  we  haven't  got  it,  but  like  as  not  it's 
mixed  up  in  one  of  them  piles.  If  you'll  wait  for 
about  ten  minutes  I'll  see  if  I  can  find  it  for  your 
Reverence." 

The  Anglican  looked  shocked. 

"  Thanks,  I'm  sure,"  he  murmured  stiffly.  He 
was  a  slight  young  man  with  a  monocle  and  mutton- 
chops. 

"  It's  very  good  of  you,"  he  added  after  a  pause, 
with  more  condescension.  "  Awfully  awkward  to 

128 


Governor-General's  Trunk 

be  without  one's  luggage,  for  I  have  a  service  in 
Montreal  to-morrow,  and  all  my  vestments  are  in 
my  box.  I  fear  I  shall  miss  my  train." 

"  Oh,  I  guess  not  I  "  replied  the  baggage-man  en 
couragingly.  "  I'll  be  with  you  presently.  You 
come  in  and  look  around  yourself,  and  if  you  don't 
see  it  I'll  help  you.  This  way,  sir,"  and  he  lifted 
a  section  of  the  counter  and  allowed  the  clergyman 
to  pass  in. 

"My!  Ain't  he  clever!"  whispered  Barney 
delightedly. 

The  clergyman  now  began  a  rather  dilatory  in 
vestigation  of  the  contents  of  the  baggage-room, 
bending  over  and  examining  every  trunk  in  sight, 
and  even  tapping  the  one  in  which  they  were 
ensconced  with  the  silver  head  of  his  umbrella, 
but  after  a  few  moments,  in  apparent  despair, 
he  took  his  stand  beside  the  big  trunk  marked 
"  B.  C.  L.,"  and  gazed  despondently  about  him. 
There  was  nothing  in  his  appearance  to  suggest 
that  he  was  other  than  he  seemed,  but  Barney  di 
rected  McAllister's  attention  to  the  copy  of  The 
Churchman,  from  the  leaves  of  which  protruded 
two  diminutive  pieces  of  string,  put  there,  as  it 
might  appear,  for  a  book-mark.  And  now  as  the 
Anglican  shifted  from  one  foot  to  the  other,  os 
tensibly  waiting  for  the  porter,  he  placed  his 
hands  behind  him  and  took  a  step  or  two  backward 

129 


Governor-General's  Trunk 

toward  the  big  trunk.  Chubby  was  by  this  time 
all  agog.  What  would  the  fellow  do?  He  cer 
tainly  couldn't  be  goin'  to  shoulder  the  trunk  and 
try  to  walk  off  with  it! 

Suddenly  McAllister  saw  the  daintily  gloved 
hands  slip  a  penknife  from  among  the  leaves  of 
the  magazine  and  quickly  sever  the  check  from  the 
handle  of  the  trunk.  The  Anglican  altered  his 
position  and  waited  until  the  baggage-man  was 
once  more  engaged  at  the  other  end  of  the  counter. 
Again  this  amiable  representative  of  the  cloth 
shuffled  backward  until  the  handle  was  within  easy 
reach,  and  with  a  dexterity  which  must  have  been 
born  of  long  practice  deftly  tied  the  two  ends 
of  string  around  it.  With  a  quick  motion  he 
stepped  away  in  the  direction  of  the  counter,  and 
out  from  the  leaves  of  The  Churchman  fell  and 
dangled  a  new  check  stamped  "  Waistcoat's  Ex 
press,  No.  1467." 

"  My  good  fellow,"  impatiently  drawled  the 
clergyman,  approaching  the  baggage-man,  ''  I 
really  can't  wait,  don'cher  know.  I've  looked 
everywhere,  and  my  box  isn't  here.  I  don't  know 
whether  to  blame  that  beastly  luggage-man,  or 
whether  it's  the  fault  of  this  disgustin'  American 
railroad.  It's  evident  someone's  at  fault,  and  as 
I  assume  that  you  are  in  charge  I  shall  report  you 
immediately." 

130 


Governor-General's  Trunk 

The  elderly  baggage-man  regarded  the  robust 
champion  of  religion  before  him  with  scorn. 

"  Well,  son,  you  can  report  all  you  like.  I've 
worked  in  this  baggage-room  eighteen  years,  and 
you're  not  the  first  English  crank  who  thought  he 
owned  the  hull  Central  Railroad,"  and  he  turned 
on  his  heel,  while  the  clergyman,  with  an  expression 
of  horror,  ambled  quickly  out  of  the  side  door. 

McAllister  had  watched  this  remarkable  pro 
ceeding  with  enthusiastic  interest,  his  round  face 
shining  with  the  excitement  of  a  child. 

"  Jiminy,  but  this  is  great !  "  he  exclaimed,  slap 
ping  Barney  upon  the  back.  "  And  to  think  of 
your  doin'  it  for  a  livin' !  Why  I'd  sit  here  all 
day  for  nothin' !  What  happens  next?  And 
what  becomes  of  the  feller  that's  just  gone 
out?" 

"Oh,  you  ain't  seen  half  the  show  yet!  "  re 
sponded  Conville,  pleased.  "  It  is  pretty  good  fun 
at  times.  But,  o'  course,  this  is  a  star  perform 
ance,  and  we're  sure  of  our  man.  Oh,  it  beats  the 
theayter,  all  right,  all  right !  Truth's  stranger 
than  fiction  every  time,  you  bet.  Now  take  this 
Oyster — why  he's  a  regular  cracker-jack!  Got 
sense  enough  to  be  an  alderman,  or  president,  or 
anythin',  but  he  keeps  right  at  his  own  little  job  of 
liftin'  trunks,  an'  he  ain't  never  been  caught  yet. 
His  pal'll  be  along  now  any  minute." 


Governor-General's  Trunk 

"How's  that?"  inquired  Chubby  with  eager 
ness. 

"  Why,  don'cher  see  ?  Jerry's  cut  off  the  reg'lar 
tag,  and  now  the  other  feller'll  present  a  dupli 
cate  of  the  one  Jerry's  just  hitched  on.  Great 
game,  '  Foxy  Quiller,'  eh?  " 

McAllister  admitted  delightedly  that  it  was  a 
great  game.  By  George,  it  beat  playin'  the 
horses !  At  the  same  time  he  shivered  as  he  real 
ized  how  nearly  the  famous  jewels  had  actually 
been  lost.  Wilkins  must  be  an  awful  bad  egg  to 
go  and  tie  up  to  a  gang  of  that  sort ! 

The  baggage-man,  serenely  unconscious  of  all 
that  had  been  taking  place  behind  his  back,  and 
apparently  not  soured  by  his  little  set-to  with 
the  Englishman,  was  genially  assisting  the  great 
American  public  to  find  its  effects,  and  beaming  on 
all  about  him.  People  streamed  in  and  out,  en 
gines  coughed  and  wheezed;  from  outside  came 
the  roar  and  rattle  of  the  city. 

Presently  there  bounced  in  a  stout  person  in  a 
yellow  and  black  suit,  with  white  waistcoat  and 
green  tie,  who  mopped  his  red  face  with  a  large 
silk  handkerchief.  Rushing  up  to  a  porter  who 
seemed  to  be  unoccupied,  he  threw  down  a  paste 
board  check,  together  with  a  shining  half-dollar, 
and  shouted,  "  Here,  my  good  feller,  that  trunk, 
will  you  ?  Quick !  The  big  one  with  the  red  let- 

132 


Governor-General's  Trunk 

ters  on  it — '  B.  C.  L.'  They  sent  it  here  from  the 
Astoria  instead  of  to  the  steamboat  dock,  and  my 
ship  sails  at  twelve.  Now,  get  a  move  on !  " 

The  porter  grabbed  the  check  and  the  half- 
dollar,  and  falling  upon  the  big  Vuitton,  rolled  it 
end  over  end  out  into  the  street,  followed  by  its 
perspiring  claimant. 

"  That's  right,  that's  right,"  shouted  the 
bounder.  "  Chuck  it  on  behind.  Mus'n't  miss 
the  boat !  "  and  throwing  the  porter  another  half- 
dollar,  the  sportive  traveller  jumped  into  the  hack, 
yelling,  "  Now  drive  like  the  devil!  "  The  door 
closed  with  a  bang,  and  the  vehicle  quickly  disap 
peared  among  the  tracks  and  wagons  of  Forty- 
second  Street. 

McAllister  for  the  first  time  felt  distinctly  un 
easy. 

"  Look  here,"  he  whispered  feverishly,  "  is  it 
right  to  let  him  walk  off  like  that?  Hurry  I 
Open  the  trunk,  or  he'll  get  away !  " 

"  Sit  still,  and  don't  get  excited!  "  commanded 
Barney.  "  It's  all  right,"  he  added  condescend 
ingly,  remembering  that  McAllister  was  unfamil 
iar  with  such  mysteries.  :<  We've  got  him  cov 
ered.  He  couldn't  get  away  to  save  his  neck. 
An'  as  for  follerin'  him,  why  he'll  carry  that  trunk 
half  over  New  York  before  he  lands  it  where  it's 
goin'l" 

133 


Governor-General's  Trunk 

"  All  right!  "  sighed  the  clubman;  "  you're  the 
doctor.  But  it  seems  to  me  you're  takin'  a  lot  of 
risk.  Your  brother  officer  might  lose  track  of  him, 
or  he  might  drop  the  trunk  somehow,  and  then 
where  would  the  jewels  be?  " 

"  Right  exactly  where  they  are  now''  replied 
Barney  with  a  grin.  "  In  the  office  safe  at  the 
Waldorf.  They  ain't  never  left  the  hotel.  There 
wasn't  any  need  of  it,  and  if  I  hadn't  taken  'em 
out  I'd  Ve  had  to  watch  'em  here  all  night.  Now 
everythin's  all  right. 

"  And  say,"  he  added,  chuckling  at  the  joke  of 
it,  "  I  forgot  to  tell  you.  Who  do  you  suppose  is 
workin'  with  Jerry?  Fatty  Welch!  '  Wilkins,' 
you'd  call  him.  He's  turned  up  again  an'  hooked 
on,  somehow,  to  the  Gov'nor.  Me  and  my  side- 
partner's  been  trailin'  'em  both  ever  since  your 
uncle  hit  New  York.  I  had  the  room  opposite 
him  at  the  Waldorf.  Yesterday  mornin'  I  saw 
Welch  pack  the  jewelry.  I  was  togged  out  as 
a  bell-boy,  and  was  cleanin'  the  winders.  The 
Gov'nor's  kind  of  figgity  you  know,  and  I  thought 
we'd  better  not  mention  anythin'  to  him.  Of 
course  I  didn't  have  any  idea  you'd  come  waltzin' 
along  this  way." 

McAllister  solemnly  held  out  his  hand  to  the 
detective.  He  was  as  demonstrative  as  his  narrow 
quarters  rendered  possible. 

134 


Governor-General's  Trunk 

"  Baron,"  said  he,  "you're  a  corker!  I've 
learned  a  heap  this  morning." 

"  There's  lots  of  things  you  never  dream  of, 
Horace,"  replied  Barney  politely. 

"  Do  you  remember,  Baron,  the  last  time  we  met 
asking  me  to  help  you  nab  Wilkins?  "  continued 
McAllister.  "  Well,  I'm  goin'  to  make  good. 
I've  got  him  safely  locked  in  a  closet  at  the  hotel. 
He  promised  not  to  come  back,  and  now  I'm  done 
with  him.  What  do  you  say  to  that  ?" 

"  Good  work!  "  ejaculated  Barney.  "  Keep  it 
up  !  In  time  you  might  make  a  pretty  good  detec 
tive." 

From  Barney  such  a  concession  was  high 
praise,  and  showed  intense  appreciation.  On  their 
way  back  to  the  Waldorf  he  explained  that  the 
"  Oyster  "  was  one  of  a  very  few  "  guns  "  able 
effectively  to  make  use  of  a  disguise,  this  being  in 
part  due  to  the  fact  that  he  was  the  son  of  a  clergy 
man,  and  educated  for  the  stage. 

They  were  met  at  the  door  of  the  apartment  by 
Lady  Lyndhurst. 

"  Basil  has  disappeared!  "  she  gasped.  "  And 
that  awful  man  in  the  closet  has  become  so  blas 
phemous  that  I  can't  remain  with  decency  in  the 
room." 

McAllister  partially  pacified  her  by  stating  that 
the  jewelry  was  entirely  safe.  He  wondered  what 

135 


Governor-General's  Trunk 

on  earth  had  become  of  the  Governor.  Once  in 
side  the  suite  conversation  became  practically  im 
possible,  owing  to  the  sounds  of  inarticulate  rage 
which  proceeded  from  the  closet. 

Barney  decided  to  place  the  valet  immediately 
under  arrest  and  take  him  to  Police  Headquarters. 
The  sooner  they  did  so  the  more  likely  he  would 
be  to  "  squeal."  He  requested  McAllister  to  arm 
himself  with  a  walking-stick,  and  to  stand  ready  to 
come  to  his  assistance  if,  on  opening  the  door,  he 
should  find  himself  unable  to  cope  with  the  pris 
oner  alone.  Aunt  Sophia  was  relegated  to  her 
bedroom,  the  door  leading  to  the  corridor  was 
closed  and  locked,  and  the  two  prepared  for  the 
conflict.  The  detective,  of  course,  had  his  pistol, 
which  he  cocked  and  held  ready. 

"  Don't  fire  'till  you  see  the  whites  of  his  eyes!  " 
murmured  McAllister. 

"  Fire — nothin' !  "  muttered  Barney,  throwing 
open  the  closet  door. 

u  Hands  up,  or  I'll  shoot !  "  yelled  the  detective, 
as  a  fat,  wild-eyed  individual  sprung  from  within 
and  burst  upon  their  astonished  gaze.  The  Gov 
ernor-General  stood  before  them. 

Speechless  with  rage,  he  glowered  from  one  to 
the  other — then  in  response  to  their  surprised  in 
quiries  broke  into  incoherent  explanation.  He  had 
waited  on  guard  some  ten  minutes  after  McAllis- 

136 


Governor-General's  Trunk 

tcr's  departure,  and  Sophia  had  gone  to  her  bed 
room  to  finish  dressing,  when  suddenly  the  expos 
tulations  of  Morton  had  seemed  to  grow  fainter. 
Finally  they  had  died  entirely  away,  and  in  their 
place  had  come  terrible  gasps  and  gurgles.  He 
had  remembered  that  there  was  no  means  of  renew 
ing  the  air  supply  in  the  closet,  and  had  become 
alarmed.  Presently  all  sounds  had  ceased.  He 
was  convinced  that  Morton  was  being  suffocated. 
Opening  the  door,  he  had  found  the  valet  appar 
ently  lying  there  unconscious,  and  had  dragged  him 
forth,  whereupon  Morton  had  suddenly  returned 
to  life,  and  before  he  knew  it  had  jammed  him  into 
the  closet  and  locked  the  door. 

"  He  was  most  impertinent,  too,  when  he  got 
on  the  outside,  I  can  assure  you,"  concluded  Lord 
Lyndhurst  indignantly.  "  Gave  me  a  lot  of  gra 
tuitous  advice !  " 

McAllister  and  the  detective  endeavored  to  calm 
his  troubled  spirit,  and  soothe  his  ruffled  dignity, 
informing  him  that  the  jewels  had  been  in  the  hotel 
safe  all  the  time.  The  Governor,  however,  refused 
to  take  any  stock  whatever  in  their  explanation. 
Nothing  of  the  sort  could  possibly  have  happened 
in  England.  It  took  them  an  hour  to  persuade 
him  that  they  were  not  lying.  The  only  things 
that  appeared  to  convince  him  at  all  were  the  dis 
appearance  of  Morton,  a  large  bump  on  his  own 

137 


Govern  or- General's  Trunk 

forehead,  and  the  actual  presence  of  the  jewelry 
in  the  safe  downstairs.  Even  then  he  sent  to 
Tiffany's  for  a  man  to  examine  it. 

Barney  he  regarded  with  unconcealed  suspicion, 
subjecting  him  to  an  exhaustive  cross-examination 
upon  his  antecedents  and  occupation.  The  Gov 
ernor  declared  he  was  astounded  at  his  impudence. 
The  idea  of  opening  his  private  luggage!  He 
would  address  a  communication  to  the  authorities ! 
It  was  little  better  than  grand  larceny.  It  was 
grand  larceny,  by  Jupiter !  Hadn't  Conville  ab 
stracted  the  jewels  vi  et  armls?  Of  course  he  had ! 
Damme,  he  would  see  if  the  sacred  rights  of  an 
English  official  should  be  trampled  on !  It  was 
trespass  anyway — Trespass  ab  initio!  Did  Con 
ville  know  that?  It  was  grand  larceny  and  tres 
pass.  He  would  lock  him  up. 

Barney  grinned,  and  the  Governor  again  became 
almost  apoplectic. 

He  snorted  scornfully  at  the  detective's  expla 
nation  about  this  Jerry  "  What-do-you-call-him 
— the  Clam."  Pooh!  Did  they  expect  him  to 
believe  that?  Conville  was  a  confounded,  hair- 
brained  busybody —  He  dwindled  off,  exhausted. 

At  that  moment  there  came  a  sharp  rap  upon 
the  door,  and  an  officer  in  roundsman's  uniform 
entered. 

"  Gentleman  called  at  the  precinct  house  and  re- 
138 


Governor-General's  Trunk 

ported  a  jewelry  theft  in  this  suite.  Said  the  thief 
had  been  caught  and  locked  up  in  a  closet,  so 
I  thought  I'd  drop  over  and  see  how  things 
stood." 

He  looked  inquiringly  at  McAllister,  signifi 
cantly  at  the  Governor-General,  and  then  caught 
sight  of  Barney. 

"  Hello,  Conville !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  You  on 
the  case?  Well,  then  I'll  drop  out.  Got  your 
man,  I  see !  "  He  glanced  again  at  the  dishevelled 
scion  of  nobility  before  him. 

"  Everythin's  all  right,"  answered  the  detective 
with  a  chuckle.  "  I  guess  they  was  fakin'  you 
round  at  the  house.  By  the  way,  I  want  you  to 
meet  a  friend  of  mine — Roundsman  McCarthy, 
let  me  present  you  to  his  Nibs — the  Governor- 
General." 

The  Governor  glared  immobile,  his  stony  eyes 
shifting  from  the  now  red  and  stammering  rounds 
man  to  Conville's  beaming  countenance,  and  back 
again. 

"  Gentlemen,"  he  remarked  sternly,  "  do  you 
prefer  Scotch  or  rye?  You  will  find  cigars  on  the 
sideboard.  The  drinks,  as  you  Yankees  say,  are 
upon  me!  " 

"  By  the  way,"  he  added  to  McCarthy,  as  Mc 
Allister  filled  the  glasses,  "  would  you  be  so  oblig 
ing  as  to  describe  the  individual  who  so  thought- 

139 


Governor- General's  Trunk 

fully  notified  you  in  regard  to  the  loss  of  the  jew 
elry?  " 

"  Rather  stout,  well-dressed  man,  fat  face,  gray 
eyes,"  answered  McCarthy,  lighting  a  cigar. 
"  Looked  somethin'  like  this  gentleman  here,"  in 
dicating  the  clubman.  "  Spoke  with  a  kind  of 
English  accent.  Nice  appearin'  feller,  all  right." 

"By  George!  Wilkins!"  ejaculated  McAl 
lister. 

"  Damn !  "  exploded  Uncle  Basil. 

"  The  nerve  of  him !  "  muttered  Barney. 


140 


THE  GOLDEN  TOUCH 


The  Golden  Touch 


MCALLISTER,  with  his  friend  Wainwright, 
was  lounging  before  the  fire  in  the  big 
room,  having  a  little  private  Story  Teller's 
Night  of  their  own.  It  was  in  the  early  autumn, 
and  neither  of  the  clubmen  were  really  settled  in 
town  as  yet,  the  former  having  run  down  from 
the  Berkshires  only  for  a  few  days,  and  the  latter 
having  just  landed  from  the  Cedric.  The  sight 
of  Tomlinson,  who  appeared  tentatively  in  the 
distance  and  then,  receiving  no  encouragement, 
stalked  slowly  away,  reminded  Wainwright  of 
something  he  had  heard  in  Paris. 

"  I  base  my  claim  to  your  sympathetic  credence, 
McAllister,  upon  the  impregnable  rock  of  univer 
sally  accepted  fact  that  Tomlinson  is  a  highfalutin 
ass.  I  see  that  you  agree.  Very  good,  then ;  I  pro 
ceed.  In  the  first  place,  you  must  know  that  our 
anemic  friend  decided  last  spring  that  the  state 
of  his  health  required  a  trip  to  Paris.  He  there- 

143 


The  Golden  Touch 

fore  went — alone.  The  reason  is  obvious.  Who 
should  he  fall  in  with  at  the  Hotel  Continental 
but  a  gentleman  named  Buncomb — Colonel  C.  T. 
P.  Buncomb,  a  person  with  a  bullet-hole  in  the  mid 
dle  of  his  forehead,  who  claimed  to  belong  to  a 
most  exclusive  Southern  family  in  Savannah.  In 
cidentally  he'd  been  in  command  of  a  Georgia 
regiment  in  the  Civil  War  and  had  been  knocked 
in  the  head  at  Gettysburg — one  of  those  big,  flabby 
fellows  with  white  hair.  If  all  Tomlinson  says 
about  his  capacity  to  chew  Black  Strap  and  absorb 
rum  is  accurate,  I  reckon  the  Colonel  was  right 
up  to  weight  and  could  qualify  as  an  F.  F.  V.  He 
knew  everybody  and  everything  in  Paris;  passed 
up  our  friend  right  along  the  Faubourg  Saint  Ger 
main  ;  and  introduced  him  to  a  lot  of  duchesses  and 
countesses — that  is,  Tomlinson  says  they  were. 
Can't  you  see  'em,  swaggerin'  down  the  Champs- 
Elysees  arm  in  arm?  In  addition,  he  took  our 
mournful  acquaintance  to  all  the  cafes  chantants 
and  students'  balls,  and  gave  him  sure  things  on 
the  races.  Oh,  that  Colonel  must  have  been  a 
regular  doodle-bug ! 

"  In  due  course  Tomlinson  gathered  that  his  new 
friend  was  a  mining  expert  taking  a  short  vaca 
tion  and  just  blowing  in  an  extra  half  million  or 
so.  He  believed  it.  You  see,  he  had  never  met 
any  of  them  at  the  Waldorf  at  home.  He  was 

144 


The  Golden  Touch 

also  introduced  to  a  young  man  in  the  same  line  of 
business,  named  Larry  Summerdale,  who  seemed 
to  have  plenty  of  money,  and  was  likewise  au  fait 
with  the  aristocracy. 

"  Well,  one  night,  after  they  had  been  to  the 
Bal  Boullier  and  had  had  a  little  supper  at  the 
Jockey  Club,  the  Colonel  became  a  trifle  more  con 
fidential  than  usual,  and  let  drop  that  their  friend 
Summerdale  had  a  brother  employed  as  private 
secretary  by  a  copper  king  who  owned  a  wonder 
ful  mine  out  in  Arizona  called  The  Silver  Bow. 
The  stock  in  this  concern  had  originally  been  sold 
at  five  dollars  a  share,  but  recently  a  rich  vein  had 
been  struck  and  the  stock  had  quadrupled  in  value. 
No  one  knew  of  this  except  the  officers  of  the  com 
pany,  who,  of  course,  were  anxious  to  buy  up  all 
they  could  find.  They  had  located  most  of  it 
easily  enough,  but  there  were  two  or  three  lots  that 
had  thus  far  eluded  them.  Among  these  was  the 
largest  single  block  of  stock  in  existence,  owned  by 
the  son  of  the  original  discoverer  of  the  prospect. 
He  had  two  thousand  shares,  and  was  blissfully 
ignorant  of  the  fact  that  they  were  worth  forty 
thousand  dollars.  Just  where  this  chap  was  no 
one  seemed  to  know,  but  his  name  was  Edwin  H. 
Blake,  and  he  was  supposed  to  be  in  Paris.  It 
appeared  that  the  Colonel  and  Larry  were  watch 
ing  out  for  Blake  with  the  charitable  idea  of  re- 

145 


The  Golden  Touch 

lieving  him  of  his  stock  at  five,  and  selling  it  for 
twenty  in  the  States. 

"  Next  day,  if  you'll  believe  it,  the  Colonel 
didn't  remember  a  thing;  became  quite  angry  at 
Tomlinson's  supposing  he'd  take  advantage  of  any 
person  in  the  way  suggested;  explained  that  he 
must  have  been  drinking,  and  begged  him  to  for 
get  everything  that  might  have  been  said.  Of 
course,  Tomlinson  dropped  the  subject,  but  after 
that  the  Colonel  and  he  rather  drifted  apart. 
Then  quite  by  accident,  two  or  three  weeks  later, 
our  friend  stumbled  on  Blake  himself — met  him 
right  on  the  race-track,  through  a  Frenchman 
named  Depau. 

u  Now  our  innocent  friend  had  been  sort  of 
lonely  ever  since  he'd  lost  sight  of  Buncomb,  and 
this  Blake  turned  out  to  be  an  awfully  good  sort. 
Tomlinson  naturally  inquired  if  he'd  ever  met  the 
Colonel  or  Larry  Summerdale,  but  he  never  had, 
and  finally  they  took  an  apartment  together." 

"  He  must  have  been  pleased  when  Tomlinson 
told  him  about  the  value  of  his  stock,"  remarked 
McAllister,  lighting  another  cigar. 

"  I'm  comin'  to  that,"  replied  Wainwright. 
"  It  seems  that  Tomlinson  so  far  forgot  his  early 
New  England  traditions  as  to  covet  that  stock 
himself.  Shockin',  wasn't  it? 

"  One  day,  when  they  were  lunching  at  the  Trois 
146 


The  Golden  Touch 

Freres,  our  friend  hinted  that  he  was  interested 
in  mining  stock.  Blake  laughed,  and  replied  that 
if  Tomlinson  owned  as  much  as  he  did  of  the  stuff 
he  wouldn't  want  to  see  another  share  as  long  as  he 
lived,  and  added  that  he  was  loaded  up  with  a  lot 
of  worthless  stock — two  thousand  shares — in  an 
old  prospect  in  Arizona  that  he  had  inherited  from 
his  father,  and  wasn't  worth  the  paper  the  certifi 
cate  was  printed  on.  The  leery  Tomlinson  admit 
ted  having  heard  of  the  mine,  but  gave  it  as  his 
impression  that  it  had  possibilities. 

"  Then  he  had  a  sudden  headache,  and  went  out 
and  cabled  to  The  Silver  Bow  offices  at  the  World 
building  here  in  New  York  to  find  out  what  the 
company  would  pay  for  the  stock.  In  an  hour  or 
two  he  got  an  answer  stating  that  they  were  pre 
pared  to  give  twenty  dollars  a  share  for  not  less 
than  two  thousand  shares.  Good,  eh? 

"  Well,  next  day  he  led  the  conversation  round 
again  to  mining  stocks,  and  finally  offered  to  buy 
Blake's  holdings  for  five  dollars  a  share.  When  the 
latter  hesitated,  Tomlinson  was  so  afraid  he'd  lose 
the  stock  that  he  almost  raised  his  bid  to  fifteen ;  but 
Blake  only  laughed,  and  said  that  he  had  no  inten 
tion  of  robbing  one  of  his  friends,  and  that  the 
old  stuff  really  wasn't  worth  a  cent.  Tomlinson 
became  quite  indignant,  suggested  that  perhaps  he 
knew  more  about  that  particular  mine  than  even 

H7 


The  Golden  Touch 

Blake  did,  and  finally  overcame  the  latter's  scruples 
and  persuaded  him  to  sell.  Then  Tomlinson  dis 
posed  of  some  bonds  by  cable,  and  that  evening 
gave  Blake  a  draft  for  fifty  thousand  francs  in  ex 
change  for  his  two  thousand  share  certificate  in 
The  Silver  Bow  of  Arizona.  He  told  me  it  had  a 
picture  of  a  miner  with  a  pick-ax  and  a  mule  stand 
ing  against  the  rising  sun  on  it.  Sort  of  allegori 
cal,  don't  you  think? 

"  Blake  continued  to  protest  that  our  friend  was 
being  cheated,  and  offered  to  buy  it  back  at  any 
time ;  but  Tomlinson's  one  idea  was  to  get  to  New 
York  as  fast  as  possible.  He  had  cabled  that  the 
stock  was  on  the  way,  and  that  very  night  he 
slid  out  of  Paris  and  caught  the  Norddeutscher 
Lloyd  at  Cherbourg.  I  inferred  that  he  occu 
pied  the  bridal  chamber  on  the  way  back  all  by 
himself. 

"  The  instant  they  landed  he  jumped  in  a  cab 
and  started  for  the  World  building;  but  when  he 
got  there  he  couldn't  find  any  Silver  Bow  Mining 
Company.  It  had  evaporated.  It  had  been  there 
right  enough — for  ten  days — the  ten  days  Tomlin 
son  calculated  that  it  had  taken  Blake  to  sell  him 
the  stock.  But  no  one  knew  where  it  had  gone  or 
what  had  become  of  it. 

"  Well,  of  course,"  kept  on  Wainwright,  "  he 
nearly  went  crazy;  cabled  the  police  in  Paris  and 

148 


The  Golden  Touch 

had  'em  all  arrested,  including  Colonel  Buncomb; 
and  took  the  next  steamer  back.  He  says  they  had 
the  trial  in  a  little  police  court  in  the  Palais  de  Jus 
tice.  Buncomb  had  hired  Maitre  Labor!  to  defend 
him.  Everybody  kept  their  hats  on,  and  appar 
ently  they  all  shouted  at  once.  The  Judge  was  the 
only  one  that  kept  his  mouth  shut  at  all.  Tom- 
linson  told  his  story  through  an  interpreter,  and 
charged  Buncomb,  Summerdale,  and  Blake  with 
conspiracy  to  defraud. 

When  the  Colonel  realized  what  it  was  all  about 
he  jumped  into  the  middle  of  the  room,  pushed  his 
silk  hat  back  of  his  ears,  flapped  his  coat-tails,  and 
sailed  into  'em  in  good  old  Southern  style.  I  tell 
you  he  must  have  made  the  eagle  scream.  He  was 
a  Colonel  in  the  Confederate  Army,  he  was — the 
Thirtieth  Georgia.  The  whole  thing  was  a  mis 
erable  French  scheme  to  blackmail  him.  He'd  ap 
peal  to  the  American  Ambassador.  He'd  see  if  a 
parcel  of  French  soup-makers  and  a  police  judge 
could  interfere  with  the  Constitution  of  the  United 
States.  Every  once  in  a  while  he'd  yell  '  Cons- 
puez  '  or  ' A  has  '  and  sort  of  froth  at  the  mouth. 
He  made  a  great  big  impression.  Then  Maitre 
Labor!  got  in  his  licks.  He  said  Tomlinson  was  a 
wolf  in  sheep's  clothing — a  rascal — a  *  vilain 
m'sieur,'  whatever  that  is. 

"  Finally  he  inquired,  with  a  very  unpleasant 
149 


The  Golden  Touch 

smile,  if  Buncomb  had  ever  asked  him  to  buy  any 
stock? 

'  Tomlinson  had  to  say  '  No.' 

"  Did  Larry  Summerdale? 

"  '  No.' 

"  Didn't  Blake  tell  him  the  stock  was  worthless? 

"  '  Yes.' 

"  How  did  he  know  the  stock  wasn't  worth  what 
he  paid  for  it? 

11 '  Well,  he  didn't  absolutely.' 

'  The  Labori  said  something  with  a  long  rat 
tling  '  r  '  in  it  like  a  snake,  and  turned  with  a  gest 
ure  of  extreme  contempt  to  the  Judge.  He  re 
marked  that  one  glance  of  comparison  between 
Colonel  Buncomb  and  Tomlinson  would  show 
which  was  the  gentleman  and  which  was  the  rogue. 
Then  the  first  thing  our  friend  knew  the  court  had 
adjourned — they  had  all  been  turned  out — dis 
charged — acquitted.  But  the  thing  that  most  dis 
gusted  Tomlinson  was  that  as  he  was  coming  away 
he  saw  the  whole  push,  the  Colonel  and  Larry  and 
Blake,  all  piling  into  a  big  Panhard  autocar. 
They  passed  him  going  about  eighty  miles  an  hour. 
You  see,  Tomlinson  had  paid  for  that  car,  and 
he'd  always  wanted  one  to  run  himself.  The  last 
he  heard  of  'em  they  were  tearing  up  the  Riviera." 

"And  what  did  Tomlinson  do  then?"  asked 
McAllister. 

150 


The  Golden  Touch 

"  There  was  nothing  he  could  do  in  Paris,  so  he 
came  home  on  a  ten-day  boat  and  went  to  visit 
his  uncle  up  at  Methuen,  Mass.  Gay  place, 
Methuen !  Saturday  night  you  can  ride  down  to 
Lawrence  on  the  electric  car  for  a  nickel  and  hear 
the  band  play  in  front  of  the  gas  works.  But  the 
simple  life  has  done  him  good." 


II 

One  evening,  several  months  later,  McAllister 
and  a  party  of  friends  dropped  into  Rector's  after 
the  theatre  for  a  caviare  sandwich  before  turning 
in.  The  hostelry,  as  usual,  was  in  a  blaze  of  light 
and  crowded,  but  after  waiting  for  a  few  moments 
they  were  given  a  table  just  vacated  by  a  party  of 
four.  McAllister,  having  given  their  order,  no 
ticed  a  couple  seated  directly  in  his  line  of  vision 
who  instantly  challenged  his  attention.  The  girl 
was  ordinary — slender,  dark-haired,  sharp-feat 
ured,  and  clad  in  a  scarlet  costume  trimmed  with 
ermine — obviously  an  actress  or  vaudeville  "  art 
ist."  It  was  her  companion,  however,  that  caused 
McAllister  to  readjust  his  monocle.  Curious! 
Where  had  he  seen  that  fact?  It  was  that  of  a 
heavy  man  of  approximately  sixty,  benign,  smooth- 
shaven,  full-featured,  and  with  an  expanse  of 


The  Golden  Touch 

broad  white  forehead,  the  centre  of  which  was 
marked  in  a  curious  fashion  by  a  deep  dent  like  a 
hole  made  by  dropping  a  marble  into  soft  putty. 
It  gave  him  the  appearance  of  having  had  a  third 
eye,  now  extinct.  It  fascinated  McAllister.  He 
was  sure  he  had  met  the  old  fellow  somewhere — 
he  couldn't  just  place  where.  But  that  hole  in  the 
forehead — yes,  he  was  certain!  Listening  ab 
stractedly  to  his  friends'  conversation,  the  clubman 
studied  his  neighbor,  becoming  each  moment  more 
convinced  that  at  some  time  in  the  past  they  had 
been  thrown  together.  Presently  the  pair  arose, 
and  the  man  helped  the  woman  into  her  ermine 
coat.  The  hole  in  his  forehead  kept  falling  in 
and  out  of  shadow,  as  McAllister,  his  eyes  fastened 
upon  it  like  some  bird  charmed  by  a  reptile, 
watched  the  head  waiter  bow  them  ostentatiously 
out. 

"  Fellows !  "  exclaimed  McAllister,  "  look  at 
those  people  just  going  out;  do  you  know  who  they 
are?" 

"  Why,  that's  Yvette  Vibbert,  the  comedienne," 
said  Rogers.  "  She's  at  Hammerstein's.  I  don't 
know  her  escort.  By  George !  that's  a  queer  thing 
on  his  forehead." 

McAllister  beckoned  the  head  waiter  to  him. 

"  Alphonse,  who's  the  gentleman  with  Made 
moiselle  Vibbert?  " 

152 


The  Golden  Touch 

Alphonse  smiled. 

"  Zat  is  Monsieur  Herbert."  He  pronounced 
it  Erbaire. 

"  Well,  who's  Monsieur  Erbaire?  " 

Alphonse  elevated  his  eyebrows,  shrugged  his 
shoulders,  protruded  his  lips,  and  extended  the 
palms  of  his  hands. 

"  Alphonse  says,"  remarked  McAllister,  turn 
ing  to  the  group  around  the  table,  "  Alphonse  says 
that  you  can  search  him." 


Ill 

McAllister  had  speculated  for  a  day  or  two 
upon  the  probable  identity  of  the  man  with  the 
hole  in  his  forehead,  and  then  had  finally  given  it 
up  as  a  bad  job.  One  didn't  like  to  dig  up  the 
past  too  carefully,  anyhow.  You  never  could  tell 
exactly  what  you  might  exhume. 

The  next  Sunday  afternoon,  while  running  his 
eyes  carelessly  over  the  "  personals,"  his  notice  was 
attracted  to  the  following: 

BUSINESS  OPPORTUNITIES. — Advertiser  wants  party  with  four 
thousand  dollars  ready  cash;  can  make  twelve  thousand  dollars 
in  five  weeks;  no  scheme,  strictly  legitimate  business  transaction; 
will  bear  thorough  investigation;  must  act  immediately;  no 
brokers;  principals  only. 

HERBERT,  319  Herald. 

153 


The  Golden  Touch 

The  name  sounded  familiar.  But  he  didn't 
know  any  Herbert.  Then  there  hovered  in  the 
penumbra  of  his  consciousness  for  a  moment  the 
ghost  of  a  scarlet  dress,  an  ermine  hat.  Ah,  yes ! 
Herbert  was  the  man  with  the  hole  in  his  forehead 
that  night  at  Rector's,  that  Alphonse  didn't  know. 
But  where  had  he  known  that  man?  He  raised 
his  eyes  and  caught  a  glimpse  of  Tomlinson,  the 
saturnine  Tomlinson,  sitting  by  a  window.  Of 
course !  Buncomb — Colonel  C.  T.  P.  Buncomb — 
Tomlinson's  high-rolling  friend  of  the  Champs- 
Elysees — turned  up  in  New  York  as  Mr.  Herbert 
— a  man  who'd  triple  your  money  in  five  weeks! 
The  chain  was  complete.  If  he  kept  his  wits  about 
him  he  might  increase  the  reputation  achieved  at 
Blair's.  It  would  require  finesse,  to  be  sure,  but 
his  experience  with  Conville  had  given  him  con 
fidence.  Here  was  a  chance  to  do  a  little  more  de 
tective  work  on  his  own  account.  He  replied  to 
the  advertisement,  inviting  an  interview.  The 
"  Colonel "  would  probably  call,  try  some  old 
swindling  game,  McAllister  would  lure  him  on, 
and  at  the  proper  moment  call  in  the  police.  It 
looked  easy  sailing. 

Accordingly  the  appointed  hour  next  day  found 
the  clubman  waiting  impatiently  at  his  rooms, 
and  at  two  o'clock  promptly  Mr.  Herbert  was  an 
nounced.  But  McAllister  was  doomed  to  disap- 

154 


The  Golden  Touch 

pointment.  The  visitor  was  not  the  Colonel  at 
all,  and  didn't  even  have  a  bullet-hole  in  his  fore 
head.  A  short,  thick-set  man,  arrayed  carefully 
in  a  dark  blue  overcoat,  bowed  himself  in.  In  his 
hand  he  carried  a  glistening  silk  hat,  and  his  own 
countenance  was  no  less  shining  and  urbane.  Thick 
bristly  black  hair  parted  mathematically  in  the  mid 
dle  drooped  on  either  side  of  his  forehead  above 
a  pair  of  snappy  black  eyes  and  rather  bulbous  nose. 

McAllister  somewhat  uneasily  invited  his  guest 
to  be  seated. 

Mr.  Herbert  smilingly  took  the  chair  offered 
him. 

"  Mr.  McAllister?  "  he  inquired  affably. 

"  Ye-es,"  replied  the  clubman.  "  I  noticed 
your  advertisement  in  the  Herald,  and  it  occurred 
to  me  that  I  might  like  to  look  into  it." 

Mr.  Herbert  smiled  slightly  in  a  deprecating 
manner. 

"  I  admit  my  method  savors  a  trifle  of  charlatan 
ism,"  he  remarked,  "  but  the  situation  was  unusual 
and  time  was  of  the  essence.  Are  we  quite 
alone?" 

"Oh,  yes,  certainly!     Will  you  smoke?" 

Mr.  Herbert  had  no  objection  to  joining  Mc 
Allister  in  a  cigar. 

"  The  gist  of  the  matter  is  this,"  he  explained, 
holding  the  weed  in  the  corner  of  his  mouth  as  he 

155 


The  Golden  Touch 

spoke — a  trick  McAllister  had  never  acquired. 
"  I  have  a  brother  who  is  employed  in  a  confiden 
tial  capacity  by  the  president  of  a  large  mining 
company — The  Golden  Touch.  The  stock  has 
always  sold  at  around  four  or  five.  Recently  they 
struck  a  very  rich  lode.  It  was  kept  very  quiet, 
and  only  the  officers  of  the  company  actually  on 
the  field  know  of  it.  Needless  to  say,  they  are 
buying  in  the  stock  as  fast  as  they  can." 

"  Of  course,"  answered  McAllister  sympathetic 
ally.  He  felt  as  if  he  had  run  across  an  old  friend 
again.  Things  were  looking  up  a  bit. 

''  Well,  I  have  located  a  block  of  which  they 
know  absolutely  nothing.  It  was  issued  to  an  en 
gineer  in  lieu  of  cash  for  services  at  the  mine.  He 
suddenly  developed  sciatica,  and  is  obliged  to  go 
to  Baden-Baden.  At  present  he  is  laid  up  at  one 
of  the  hotels  in  this  city.  Of  course  he  is  ignorant 
of  the  find  made  since  he  left  Arizona,  and  of  the 
fact  that  his  stock,  once  worth  only  five  dollars  a 
share,  is  now  selling  at  twenty." 

"  Well,  he's  a  richer  man  than  he  supposes," 
commented  McAllister  naively. 

Mr.  Herbert  smiled  with  condescension. 

"  Exactly.  That  is  the  point.  If  I  had  five 
thousand  dollars  I  could  buy  his  thousand  shares 
to-morrow  and  sell  it  to  the  company  at  fifteen 
thousand  dollars'  profit.  You  furnish  the  funds,  I 

156 


The  Golden  Touch 

the  opportunity,  and  we  divide  even.  I've  a  sure 
thing!  What  do  you  think  of  it?  " 

"By  George!"  exclaimed  the  clubman,  slap 
ping  his  knee  delightedly,  "  I've  a  mind  to  go  you  ! 
But,"  he  added  shrewdly,  "  I  should 
want  to  see  the  prospective  buyer  of  my  stock 
before  I  purchased  it." 

"  Right  you  are;  right  you  are,  Mr.  McAllis 
ter,"  instantly  returned  Mr.  Herbert.  "  Now, 
I'm  dead  on  the  level,  see?  To-morrow  morning 
you  can  go  down  and  see  the  president  of  The 
Golden  Touch  yourself.  The  offices  are  in  the 
New  York  Life  Building." 

"  All  right,"  answered  McAllister.  "  To-mor 
row?  Wait  a  minute;  I've  an  engagement. 
Why  can't  we  go  now?  " 

Mr.  Herbert  nodded  approvingly.  Ah,  that 
was  business !  They  would  go  at  once. 

McAllister  rang  for  Frazier,  who  assisted  him 
into  his  coat  and  summoned  a  cab.  On  their  way 
down-town  Herbert  waxed  even  more  confidential. 
He  believed,  if  they  could  land  this  block  of  stock, 
they  might  perhaps  dig  up  a  few  more  hundred 
shares.  Conscientious  effort  counted  just  as  much 
in  an  affair  of  this  sort  as  in  any  other.  McAllis 
ter  displayed  the  deepest  interest. 

Arrived  at  the  New  York  Life  Building,  the 
two  took  the  elevator  to  the  fifth  floor,  where  Her- 

157 


The  Golden  Touch 

bert  led  the  way  to  a  large  suite  on  the  Leonard 
Street  side.  McAllister  rarely  had  to  go  down 
town — his  lawyer  usually  called  on  him  at  his 
rooms — and  was  much  impressed  by  the  marble 
corridors  and  gilt  lettering  upon  the  massive 
doors.  Upon  a  door  at  the  end  of  the  hall  the 
clubman  could  see  in  large  capitals  the  words, 

THE  GOLDEN  TOUCH  MINING  CO. 

Office  of  the  President. 

They  turned  to  the  left  and  paused  outside 
another  door  marked  "  Entrance."  Herbert 
thought  he'd  better  remain  in  the  corridor — the 
President  might  smell  a  rat;  so  McAllister  de 
cided  to  enter  alone.  In  an  adjoining  suite  he 
could  see  some  men  testing  a  fire-escape  consisting 
of  a  long  bulging  canvas  tube,  which  reached  from 
the  window  in  the  direction  of  the  street  below. 
Someone  was  preparing  to  make  a  descent.  Mc 
Allister  wished  he  could  stop  and  see  the  fellow 
slide  through;  but  business  was  business,  and  he 
opened  the  door. 

Inside  he  found  himself  in  a  large,  handsome 
office.  Three  gum-chewing  boys  idled,  at  desks  in 
front  of  a  brass  railing,  behind  which  several  type 
writers  rattled  continuously.  On  learning  that 
McAllister  desired  to  see  the  President,  one  of  the 

J58 


The  Golden  Touch 

boys  penetrated  an  inner  office,  and  presently  beck 
oned  our  friend  into  another  room  hung  with  large 
maps  and  photographs  and  furnished  with  a  ma 
hogany  table,  around  which  were  ranged  a  dozer 
vacant  but  impressive  chairs.  In  the  room  beyond, 
evidently  the  holy  of  holies,  he  could  see  an  elderly 
man  at  a  roll-top  desk  smoking  a  large  cigar. 

McAllister  was  beginning  to  lose  his  nerve; 
everything  seemed  so  methodical  and  everybody 
so  busy.  Telephones  rang  incessantly;  buzzers 
whirred;  the  machines  clacked;  and  the  man  inside 
smoked  on  serenely,  unperturbed,  a  wonderful 
example  of  the  superiority  of  mind  over  matter. 
Who  was  he?  McAllister  began  to  fear  that  he 
was  going  to  make  an  ass  of  himself.  Then  the 
magnate  slowly  raised  his  eyes;  retreat  became  no 
longer  possible.  With  a  start,  McAllister  found 
himself  face  to  face  with  the  man  with  the  bullet- 
hole  in  his  forehead.  The  latter  bowed  slightly. 

"  I  am  President  Van  Vorst,"  he  announced  in 
a  dignified  manner. 

McAllister  hastily  tried  to  assume  the  expres 
sion  and  manner  of  a  yokel. 

"  Er — er —  "  he  stammered;  "  you  see,  the  fact 
is,  I  want  to  sell  some  stock." 

The  Colonel  eyed  him  sternly. 

"Stock?     What  stock?" 

"  In  the  Golden  Touch." 
159 


The  Golden  Touch 

The  President  slightly  elevated  his  eyebrows. 

"  Stock  in  The  Golden  Touch?  How  much 
have  you  got?  " 

"  About  a  thousand  .shares." 

"  Nonsense!  "  remarked  the  Colonel. 

"  No,  it  isn't,"  replied  McAllister.  "  I  have, 
really.  What'll  you  pay  for  it?  " 

"  Five  dollars  a  share." 

"  No,  no,"  said  McAllister,  edging  nervously 
toward  the  door.  "  I  think  it's  worth  more  than 
that." 

"  Come  back  here,"  muttered  the  other,  getting 
up  from  his  chair  and  scowling.  "  What  do  you 
know  about  the  value  of  The  Golden  Touch,  I 
should  like  to  know?  " 

"  Perhaps  I  know  more  than  you  think,"  an 
swered  McAllister,  with  an  inane  imitation  of  airy 
nonchalance. 

"  See  here,"  said  the  Colonel  excitedly,  "  is  this 
on  the  level?  Can  you  deliver  a  thousand?  " 

"  Certainly." 

The  President  sank  back  in  his  chair. 

"  Then  you  have  located  Murphy's  stock!  "  he 
exclaimed.  "  You've  beaten  us !  That  cursed 
certificate  was  issued  just  before — "  He  paused, 
and  looked  sharply  toward  McAllister. 

"  Just  before  you  made  that  strike,"  finished  the 
clubman  significantly. 

1 60 


The  Golden  Touch 

"  Hang  you !  "  cried  the  Colonel  angrily. 
"What  do  you  ask?" 

"  Eighteen." 

"  Too  much.     Give  you  ten." 

McAllister  started  for  the  door. 

At  that  instant  a  telegraph-boy  entered  and 
handed  the  President  a  flimsy  yellow  paper. 

"  Give  you  twelve,"  added  the  Colonel,  casting 
his  eye  rapidly  over  the  telegram. 

"  Can't  do  business  on  that  basis." 

"  Well,  you've  got  us  cornered.  I'll  break  the 
record.  I'll  give  you  fifteen." 

McAllister  hesitated. 

"  All  right,"  said  he  rather  reluctantly.  "  Cash 
down?" 

"  Of  course,"  replied  the  Colonel.  "  I'll  wait 
here  for  you.  You  might  as  well  look  at  this 
now."  And  he  showed  the  clubman  the  paper. 

STAFFORD,  ARIZONA. 

Struck  very  rich  ore  on  the  foot-wall.  Recent  assays 
show  eight  per  cent,  copper,  carrying  Jive  dollars  in  gold  to 
the  ton.  Try  and  locate  Murphy's  stock. 

"  You  see,"  added  the  Colonel,  "  I've  got  to 
get  it,  if  it  busts  me !  " 

"  Well,  you  shall  have  it  in  half  an  hour,"  re 
plied  McAllister. 

Out  in  the  corridor  Herbert  wanted  to  know 
161 


The  Golden  Touch 

exactly  what  had  happened,  and  laughed  heartily 
when  McAllister  described  the  interview.  Oh, 
that  old  VanVorst  was  a  sly  dog !  He'd  steal  the 
gold  out  of  your  teeth  if  you  gave  him  the  chance. 
Carrying  five  dollars  in  gold  to  the  ton !  That  was 
even  better  than  his  brother  had  advised  him. 
Well,  the  next  thing  was  to  capture  Murphy's 
stock. 

On  their  way  to  the  Astor  House  to  see  the  sick 
engineer,  McAllister  stopped  at  the  Chemical  Na 
tional  Bank,  on  the  pretext  of  procuring  the  money 
to  pay  for  the  stock,  and  there  called  up  Police 
Headquarters.  Conville  presently  came  to  the 
wire,  and  it  was  arranged  between  them  that  the 
detective  should  communicate  with  Tomlinson  and 
bring  him  at  once  to  the  New  York  Life  Building. 
There  they  would  await  the  return  of  McAllister 
and  follow  him  to  the  offices  of  the  mining  com 
pany. 

McAllister  then  rejoined  Mr.  Herbert  in  the 
cab  and  drove  at  once  to  the  hotel.  The  polite 
clerk  informed  the  strangers  that  Mr.  Murphy  was 
bad,  very  bad,  and  that  they  would  have  to  secure 
permission  from  the  trained  nurse  before  they 
could  visit  him.  They  might,  however,  go  up 
stairs  and  inquire  for  themselves. 

Mr.  Murphy's  room  proved  to  be  at  the  extreme 
end  of  a  musty  corridor,  in  which  the  pungent  odor 

162 


The  Golden  Touch 

of  iodoform  and  antiseptics,  noticeable  even  at  the 
elevator,  gave  evidence  of  his  lamentable  condi 
tion.  A  soft  knock  brought  an  immediate  response 
from  a  muscular  male  nurse,  who  was  at  last  per 
suaded  to  allow  them  to  Interview  his  patient  on 
the  express  condition  that  their  call  should  be  lim 
ited  to  a  few  moments'  duration  only.  Inside,  the 
smell  of  medicine  became  overpowering.  McAl 
lister  could  discern  by  the  dim  light  a  figure  lying 
upon  a  bed  in  the  far  corner  shrouded  in  bandages, 
and  moaning  with  pain.  Near  at  hand  stood  a 
table  covered  with  liniment  and  bottles. 

"Wot  is  it?"  whined  the  sick  engineer. 
11  Carn't  yer  leave  me  in  peace?  Wot  is  it,  I 
s'y?" 

For  the  third  time  in  his  life  McAllister's  heart 
nearly  stopped  beating  at  the  sound  of  that  voice. 
It  was,  however,  unmistakable.  Should  it  come 
from  the  heavens  above,  or  the  caverns  of  the  hills, 
or  the  waters  beneath  the  earth,  it  could  originate 
in  but  one  unique,  extraordinary  individual — 
Wilkins !  It  was  a  startling  complication,  and  for 
an  instant  McAllister's  brain  refused  to  cope  with 
the  situation. 

u  You  really  must  pardon  us  1  "  Herbert  began, 
"  but  we've  come  to  see  if  you  wouldn't  sell  some 
of  your  Golden  Touch  mining  stock." 

"  'Oly  Moses  1  "  wailed  the  sick  engineer,  turn- 
163 


The  Golden  Touch 

ing  his  head  to  the  wall.  Oh,  my  leg!  Wot  do 
you  come  'ere  for,  about  stock,  when  I'm  almost 
dead?  Go  aw'y,  I  s'y!  " 

McAllister  pulled  himself  together.  He  had 
intended  buying  the  stock,  and  on  returning  to  the 
company's  offices  to  have  Conville  arrest  Herbert 
and  the  Colonel,  without  bothering  about  the  sick 
engineer.  He  was  pretty  sure  he  had  evidence 
enough.  But  now,  with  Wilkins  to  assist  him,  he 
undoubtedly  could  force  a  confession  from  them 
both. 

"  Go  ahead,"  he  whispered  to  Herbert;  "  I'm 
no  good  at  that  sort  of  thing." 

So  Mr.  Herbert  started  in  to  persuade  his  in 
valid  confederate  to  part  with  his  valueless  stock 
for  McAllister's  money.  He  waxed  eloquent  over 
the  glories  of  the  Continent  and  the  miraculous 
cures  effected  at  Baden-Baden,  as  well  as  upon  the 
uncertainties  of  this  life,  and  mining  stock  in  par 
ticular. 

Meanwhile  the  sick  man  tossed  in  agony  upon 
his  pallet  and  cursed  the  inconsiderate  strangers 
who  forced  their  selfish  interests  upon  him  at  such 
a  moment.  Outside  the  door  the  nurse  coughed 
impatiently.  At  last,  after  an  unusually  persistent 
harangue  on  the  part  of  Herbert,  the  invalid,  in 
veighing  against  the  sciatica  that  had  placed  him 
thus  at  their  mercy,  and  more  to  get  rid  of  them 

164 


The  Golden  Touch 

than  anything  else,  reluctantly  yielded.  Fumbling 
among  the  bed-clothes,  he  produced  a  soiled  cer 
tificate,  which  he  smoothed  out  and  regarded  sadly. 

"'Ere,  tyke  it,"  he  muttered.  "Tyke  it! 
Gimme  yer  money,  an'  go  aw'y!  " 

As  yet  he  had  not  recognized  McAllister,  who 
had  remained  partially  concealed  behind  his  com 
panion. 

"  Now's  your  chance !  "  whispered  the  latter. 
"  Take  it  while  you  can  get  it.  Where's  the 
money?  " 

McAllister  drew  out  the  bills,  which  crackled 
deliciously  in  his  hands,  and  stepped  square  in  front 
of  the  sick  engineer,  between  him  and  Herbert. 

"  Mr.  Murphy  " — he  spoke  the  words  slowly 
and  distinctly — "  I'm  the  person  who's  buying 
your  stock.  This  gentleman  has  merely  interested 
me  in  the  proposition."  Then,  fixing  his  eyes  di 
rectly  on  those  of  Wilkins,  he  held  out  the  bills. 
A  look  of  terror  came  over  the  face  of  the  valet, 
and  he  half-raised  himself  from  the  pillow  as  he 
stared  horrified  at  his  former  master.  Then  he 
sank  back,  and  turned  away  his  head. 

"  Now  answer  me  a  few  questions,"  continued 
McAllister.  "  Are  you  che  bona  fide  owner  of 
this  stock?  " 

Wilkins  choked. 

"  S'  'elp  me!  Got  it  fer  services,"  he  gasped. 
165 


The  Golden  Touch 

"  And  it's  worth  what  you  ask — five  thousand 
dollars? 

Wilkins  glanced  helplessly  at  Herbert,  who  was 
examining  a  bottle  of  iodine  on  the  mantelpiece. 
Then  he  rolled  convulsively  upon  his  side. 

"  Oh,  my  leg!  "  he  groaned,  thrashing  around 
until  his  head  came  within  a  few  inches  of  McAl 
lister's  face.  "  It's  rotten/'  he  whispered  under 
his  breath.  "  Don't  touch  it!  .  .  .  Oh,  my 
pore  leg!  .  .  .  Just  pretend  to  pass  me  the 
money.  .  .  .  'Ere,  tyke  yer  stock,  if  yer  'ave 
to!  .  .  .  /  wouldn't  rob  yer,  sir,  indeed  I 
wouldn't!  .  .  .  W'ere's  yer  money?  " 

A  gentle  smile  came  over  McAllister's  placid 
countenance.  Who  said  there  was  no  honor 
among  thieves?  Who  said  there  was  no  such 
thing  as  gratitude  and  self-sacrifice?  He  did  not 
realize  at  the  moment  that  it  was  the  only  thing 
Wilkins  could  possibly  have  done  to  save  himself. 
His  simple  faith  accepted  it  as  an  act  of  devotion 
upon  the  other's  part.  With  a  swift  wink  at  his 
old  servant,  McAllister  stepped  back  to  where  Her 
bert  was  standing. 

"  I  don't  know,"  he  said  doubtfully.  "  How 
can  I  be  sure  this  sick  man's  name  is  really  Mur 
phy,  or  that  he  is  the  fellow  that  worked  at  the 
mine?  I  guess  I'd  better  have  him  identified 
before  I  give  up  my  money." 

166 


The  Golden  Touch 

"  Don't  be  foolish!  "  growled  Herbert.  "  Of 
course  he's  the  man!  My  brother  gave  his  de 
scription  in  the  letter,  and  he  fits  it  to  a  T.  And 
then  he  has  the  certificate.  What  more  do  you 
want?" 

"  I  don't  know,"  repeated  McAllister  hesitat 
ingly.  He  shook  his  head  and  shifted  from  one 
foot  to  the  other.  "  I  don't  know.  I  guess  I 
won't  do  it." 

Herbert  seemed  annoyed. 

"  Look  here,"  he  demanded  of  the  sick  engineer, 
"  are  you  so  awful  sick  you  can't  come  over  to  the 
company's  offices  and  be  identified?  " — adding 
sotto  voce  to  McAllister,  "  if  he  does,  old  Van 
Vorst  will  probably  buy  the  stock  himself,  and  we'll 
lose  our  chance." 

The  sick  man  moaned  and  grumbled.  By 
'ookey !  'Ere  was  impudence  for  yen  Come  an' 
rob  'im  of  'is  stock,  an'  then  demand  'e  be  identified. 

"  We'll  take  you  in  our  cab.  It  ain't  far," 
urged  Herbert,  nodding  vigorously  at  Wilkins 
from  behind  McAllister. 

"  Oh,  I'll  go !  "  responded  the  engineer  with 
sudden  alacrity.  "  Anything  to  hoblige." 

He  hobbled  painfully  out  of  bed.  The  nurse 
had  by  this  time  returned,  and  was  demanding  in 
forcible  language  that  his  patient  should  instantly 
get  back.  Seeing  that  his  expostulations  had  no 

167 


The  Golden  Touch 

effect,  he  assisted  Wilkins  very  ungraciously  to  get 
into  his  clothes.  With  the  aid  of  a  stout  cane  the 
latter  tottered  to  the  elevator  and  was  finally  en 
sconced  safely  in  the  cab.  All  this  had  occupied 
nearly  an  hour ;  twenty  minutes  more  brought  them 
to  the  New  York  Life  Building. 

As  McAllister  and  Herbert  assisted  their  sup 
posed  victim  into  the  building,  the  clubman  caught 
a  glimpse  of  the  lean  Tomlinson  and  athletically 
built  Conville  standing  together  behind  the  pillars 
of  the  portico.  The  elevator  whisked  them  up  to 
the  fifth  floor  so  rapidly  that  the  sick  man  swore 
loudly  that  he  should  never  live  to  come  down 
again.  As  they  turned  into  the  corridor  toward 
the  entrance  of  the  office,  McAllister  saw  his  con 
federates  emerge  from  the  rear  elevator.  Things 
were  going  well  enough,  so  far.  Now  for  the 
coup  d'etat! 

The  boy  admitted  them  at  once  into  the  inner 
sanctum.  As  before,  President  VanVorst  sat  there 
calmly  smoking  a  cigar.  At  his  right,  in  a  corner 
by  the  window,  stood  a  heavy  iron  safe. 

"  Well,"  said  McAllister  briskly,  "  I've  brought 
the  stock,  and  I've  brought  its  former  owner  with 
it.  Do  you  recognize  him?  " 

"  Well,  well !  "  returned  the  President,  step 
ping  forward  with  great  cordiality  and  clasping 
Wilkins's  hand  in  his.  "  If  it  isn't  my  old  en- 

168 


The  Golden  Touch 

gineer,  Murphy!  How  are  you,  Murphy,  old 
socks?  It's  nearly  a  year,  isn't  it,  since  you  were 
at  Stafford?" 

"  Yes,"  replied  Wilkins  tremulously,  "  an'  I'm 
a  very  sick  man.  I've  got  the  skyathicer  some- 
thin'  hawful." 

McAllister  produced  the  stock  from  his  coat- 
pocket. 

"  Do  you  identify  this  certificate?  "  inquired  the 
clubman. 

"  Of  course!  Now  think  of  that!  I've  been 
lookin'  for  that  thousand  shares  ever  since  Mur 
phy  left  the  mine,"  said  the  Colonel  with  a  show 
of  irritation. 

"  Well,  are  you  ready  to  pay  for  it?  "  demanded 
McAllister  sharply. 

The  Colonel  hesitated,  looking  from  one  to  the 
other.  Clearly  he  could  not  determine  just  how 
matters  stood. 

"  Well,"  he  remarked  finally,  "  I  can't  pay  for 
it  just  this  minute,  but  I'll  go  right  out  and  get  the 
money.  You  see,  I  didn't  expect  you  back  quite 
so  soon.  Who  does  the  stock  belong  to,  anyhow 
— you,  or  Murphy?" 

"  At  present  it  belongs  to  me,"  said  the  club 
man. 

As  McAllister  spoke  he  stepped  in  front  of  the 
door  leading  into  the  directors'  room.  From 

169 


The  Golden  Touch 

below  came  faintly  the  rattle  of  the  street  and  the 
clang  of  electric  cars,  while  in  the  outer  office  could 
be  heard  the  merry  tattoo  of  the  typewriters. 
Could  it  be  possible  that  in  this  opulently  furnished 
office,  with  its  rosewood  desk  and  chairs,  its  Per 
sian  rugs  and  paintings,  its  plate  glass  and  heavy 
curtains,  he  was  confronting  a  crew  of  swindlers  of 
whom  his  own  valet  was  an  accomplice?  It  was 
almost  past  belief.  Yet,  as  he  recalled  Wain- 
wright's  vivid  description  of  the  fall  of  Tomlin- 
son,  the  scene  at  Rector's,  the  advertisement  in  the 
Herald,  and  the  strange  occurrences  of  the  morn 
ing,  he  perceived  that  there  could  be  no  question 
in  the  matter.  He  was  facing  three  common — or 
rather  most  uncommon — thieves,  all  of  whom 
probably  had  served  more  than  one  term  in  State 
prison — desperate  characters,  who  would  not  hesi 
tate  to  use  force,  or  worse,  should  it  appear  neces 
sary.  For  a  moment  the  clubman  lost  heart.  He 
might  be  murdered,  and  no  one  be  the  wiser. 
Then  a  vague  shadow  flickered  against  the  opaque 
glass  of  the  main  door,  and  McAllister  gained  new 
courage.  Conville  was  just  outside,  with  Tomlin- 
son — although  the  latter  could  not  be  regarded  as 
a  valuable  auxiliary  in  the  event  of  a  hand-to-hand 
struggle.  Was  he  safe  in  counting  on  Wilkins? 
What  if  the  ex-convict  should  go  back  on  him? 
How  did  the  valet  know  but  that,  by  assisting  his 

170 


The  Golden  Touch 

master,  he  was  sending  himself  to  State  prison? 
McAllister  had  a  fleeting  desire  to  turn  and  dart 
from  the  room.  What  business  had  a  middle- 
aged  clubman  turning  detective,  anyway?  Then 
he  braced  himself,  took  a  good  grip  of  his  stout 
walking-stick,  and  turned  to  the  Colonel  with  an 
assumption  of  calmness  which  he  was  very  far  from 
feeling.  The  noonday  sun  streamed  into  the  win 
dows  and  threw  into  strong  relief  the  muscular 
figures  of  the  group  about  him. 

"  I'm  afraid  you've  been  deceived  in  Murphy," 
he  remarked  coolly.  "  He  isn't  an  engineer  at  all; 
he's  just  an  ex-convict." 

The  Colonel  uttered  a  swift  oath  and  snatched 
a  Colt  from  an  open  drawer  of  the  desk.  Her 
bert  turned  fiercely  upon  the  clubman.  Wilkins 
dropped  his  crutch. 

"  What  are  you  giving  us !  "  cried  the  Colonel. 

"  I'll  leave  it  to  him"  added  McAllister.  "  By 
the  way,  his  name  isn't  Murphy  at  all — it's  Wil 
kins — or  Welch,  if  you  prefer." 

"What's  this — a  plant?"  yelled  Herbert. 
11  By  God,  if-  -  " 

"  Don't  be  upset,  Mr.  Summerdale,"  said  the 
clubman.  '  You  might  lay  down  that  pistol,  Col 
onel  Buncomb.  Wilkins  is  an  old  friend  of  mine 
— in  fact  he  used  to  work  for  me." 

The  two  thieves  glared  at  him,  speechless. 
171 


The  Golden  Touch 

Wilkins  picked  up  his  crutch  by  the  small  end, 
remarking : 

"  Better  go  easy  there,  Buncomb." 

"  I  think  you  gentlemen  had  the  pleasure  of 
meeting  another  friend  of  mine  last  summer,  a  Mr. 
Tomlinson,"  continued  McAllister.  "  He's  told 
me  a  good  deal  about  you.  I  am  under  the  impres 
sion  that  he  paid  for  an  automobile  and  a  little  trip 
you  took  on  the  Riviera.  How  would  you  like  to 
turn  back  the  money?  " 

Buncomb  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  room  pale 
and  motionless,  while  the  clubman  opened  the  door 
into  the  hall  and  called  Tomlinson's  name. 

"  Yaas,  I'm  here,  McAllister.  What  do  you 
want?  "  replied  the  club  bore  as  his  lank  figure 
entered  the  room.  At  the  sight  of  Buncomb,  Sum- 
merdale,  and  Wilkins  he  stopped  short. 

"  By  Jove !  "  he  drawled,  "  I'm  dashed  if  it  ain't 
the  Colonel — and  Larry!  " 

"Look  here,  you — you — chappie!"  snarled 
Buncomb,  "  clear  out  of  here !  And  you,  too, 
Tomlinson.  Understand?  "  He  waved  the  re 
volver  threateningly. 

"  Colonel,"  remarked  McAllister,  "  I'm  here 
for  just  one  purpose,  and  that's  to  collect  the  debt 
you  gentlemen  owe  my  friend  Mr.  Tomlinson. 
Wilkins,  or  Welch,  or  Murphy,  or  whatever  you 
call  him,  is  ready  to  turn  state's  evidence  against 

172 


The  Golden   Touch 

you.  I  promise  him  immunity.  There's  an  officer 
just  outside.  Shall  I  call  him?  " 

"Is  that  straight,  Fatty?"  cried  Summerdale, 
his  face  livid  with  fright  and  anger.  "  Are  you 
going  to  squeal  on  us?  " 

"Sure!"  replied  Wilkins.  "I'm  through 
with  you,  you  miserable  shell-gamers!  The  best 
thing  for  you  is  to  hopen  the  old  coal-box  hover 
there  and  count  hout  what's  left  of  that  ten 
thousand." 

"  Curse  you !  "  hissed  Summerdale.  "  How  do 
we  know  you  won't  have  us  pinched  whether  we 
pay  up  or  not?  " 

"  I  reckon  we'd  better  take  a  chance,"  muttered 
the  Colonel,  laying  down  his  revolver  and  dropping 
on  his  knees  before  the  safe.  The  little  knob  spun 
around,  the  lock  clicked,  and  the  heavy  door  swung 
open,  but  at  the  same  moment  there  was  a  terrific 
crash  of  glass  behind  them. 

"  Excuse  noise,"  exclaimed  Conville,  thrusting 
his  face  through  the  broken  pane  and  covering  Bun- 
comb  with  a  long  black  weapon.  "  Kindly  keep 
your  arms  up,  Colonel — and  you  too,  Larry.  How 
stout  you've  grown !  Thank  you !  I  was  peekin' 
through  the  keyhole,  and  kinder  thought  this  would 
be  a  good  time  to  freeze  on  to  what  was  in  the 
safe  without  callin'  in  an  expert." 

The  next  instant  he  had  unlocked  the  door  with 
173 


The  Golden  Touch 

his  other  hand  and  snapped  the  handcuffs  on  Sum- 
merdale's  uplifted  wrist.  While  the  detective  was 
doing  the  same  to  the  Colonel,  McAllister  caught 
sight  of  Wilkins's  frightened  glance,  and  gave  a 
slight  nod  toward  the  door  leading  into  the  next 
room.  Like  a  flash  the  valet  had  jumped  through 
and  closed  and  locked  the  door  behind  him. 
Another  door  banged.  Conville  sprang  into  the 
hall  across  the  fragments  of  the  shattered  glass, 
with  McAllister  at  his  heels.  They  were  just  in 
time  to  see  Wilkins  leap  into  the  room  where  the 
men  were  testing  the  fire-escape. 

"  Let  me  try  it,"  said  he,  and  swung  himself 
calmly  into  the  tube.  For  an  instant  he  delayed 
his  flight,  with  only  his  head  remaining  visible. 

"  Good-by,  Mr.  McAllister,"  he  called  over  his 
shoulder,  "  and  thank  you  kindly.  I  won't  forget, 
sir." 

At  the  same  instant  Conville  bounded  through 
the  door  and  rushed  to  the  window.  As  he 
reached  the  sash  Wilkins  let  go,  and  plunged 
downwards.  His  descent  was  rapid,  his  posi 
tion  being  discernible  from  the  sagging  of  the 
canvas. 

Barney  started  for  the  elevator  in  the  hope  of 
cutting  off  the  valet's  escape  below,  but  he  had  mis 
calculated  the  force  of  gravitation.  As  McAllis 
ter  reached  the  window  he  saw  the  little  bulge  that 

174 


The  Golden  Touch 

represented  Wilkins  slide  gently  to  the  bottom. 
There  was  a  cheer  from  the  bystanders  as  the  con 
vict  stepped  lightly  to  his  feet.  Then  he  turned 
for  an  instant,  and,  looking  up  at  McAllister, 
waved  his  hand  and  disappeared  among  the  crowd. 


175 


MCALLISTER'S  DATA  OF 
ETHICS 


McAllister's  Data  of  Ethics 


I 

ERTAINLY,  sir.  Your  clothes  shall  be 
delivered  at  the  Metropole  at  nine-forty- 
five  to  morrow  evenin',  sir." 

Pondel's  dapper  little  clerk  tossed  a  half-dozen 
bolts  of  "  trouserings  "  upon  the  polished  table, 
and  smiled  graciously  at  the  firm's  best  paying 
customer. 

"  Here,  Bulstead !  take  Mr.  McAllister's  waist 
measure — just  a  matter  of  precaution,"  he  added 
deferentially.  "  These  are  somethin'  fine,  sir — 
very  fine !  When  they  came  in,  I  says  to  Mr. 
Pondel:  'If  only  Mr.  McAllister  could  see  that 
woollen!  It's  a  shame,'  I  says,  '  not  to  save  it  for 
'im !  '  An'  Mr.  Pondel  agreed  with  me  at  once. 
'  Very  good,  Wessons,'  says  he.  *  Lay  aside 
enough  of  that  Lancaster  to  make  Mr.  McAllister 
a  single-breasted  sack  suit,  and  if  he  don't  fancy 
it  I'll  have  it  made  up  into  somethin'  for  myself,' 
he  says.  Ain't  that  so,  Mr.  Pondel?  " 

The  gentleman  addressed  had  graciously  saun- 
179 


McAllister's  Data  of  Ethics 

tered  over  to  congratulate  Mr.  McAllister  upon 
his  selections. 

"  Ah,  very  good!  Very  good  indeed!  How's 
that,  Wessons  ?  Yes,  I  told  him  to  keep  that  piece 
for  you,  sir.  Lord  Bentwood  begged  for  it  almost 
with  the  tears  in  his  eyes,  as  I  may  say,  but  I  as 
sured  him  that  it  was  already  spoken  for."  He 
patted  the  cloth  with  a  fat,  ring-covered  hand. 
An  atmosphere  of  exclusive  opulence  emanated 
from  every  inch  of  his  sleek,  pudgy  person — from 
the  broad  white  forehead  over  the  glinting  steel- 
gray  eyes,  from  the  pointed  Van  Dyke  trimmed  to 
resemble  that  of  a  certain  exalted  personage,  from 
his  drab  waistcoated  abdomen  begirdled  with  its 
heavy  chain  and  dangling  seals,  down  to  the  gray- 
gaitered  patent  leathers.  McAllister  distrusted, 
feared,  relied  upon  him. 

The  clubman  wiped  his  monocle  and  glanced  out 
through  the  plate-glass  window.  Marlborough 
Square  was  flooded  with  the  soft  sunshine  of  the 
autumn  afternoon.  Hardly  a  pedestrian  violated 
the  eminently  aristocratic  silence  of  St.  Timothy's. 

"  Very  thoughtful  of  you,  I'm  sure,"  he  replied, 
not  grudging  Pondel  the  extra  two  guineas  which 
he  very  well  knew  the  other  invariably  charged 
for  these  little  favors.  It  were  cheap  at  twice 
the  money  to  feel  so  much  a  gentleman. 

"  But  this  is  Saturday,  and  it's  five  o'clock  now. 
1 80 


McAllister's  Data  of  Ethics 

I  don't  see  how  you  can  possibly  finish  all  those 
suits  by  to-morrow  evening.  You  know  I  really 
didn't  intend  to  order  anything  but  the  frock-coat. 
Perhaps  you'd  just  better  let  the  rest  go.  I  can 
get  them  some  other  time." 

"  Not  at  all,  Mr.  McAllister;  not  at  all.  We 
are  always  delighted  to  serve  you  by  any  means 
in  our  power.  Did  Wessons  say  they  would  be 
finished  to-morrow?  Then  to-morrow  they  shall 
be,  sir.  I'll  set  my  men  at  work  immediately. 
Pedler!  Where's  Pedler?  Send  him  here  at 
once!" 

A  hollow-eyed,  lank,  round-shouldered  journey 
man  parted  the  curtains  that  concealed  the  rear  of 
the  room,  and  nervously  approached  his  employer. 
He  blinked  at  the  unaccustomed  sunlight,  suppress 
ing  a  cough. 

"  Did  you  call  me,  sir?  " 

"  Yes,"  replied  Pondel  with  the  severity  of  one 
granting  an  undeserved  favor.  '  This  is  Mr.  Mc 
Allister,  of  whom  you  have  heard  us  speak  so  often. 
I  believe  you  have  cut  several  of  the  gentleman's 
suits.  He  is  to  take  the  Majestic,  which  sails  early 
Monday  morning,  and  I  have  promised  that  his 
clothes  shall  be  ready  to-morrow  evening.  Can 
you  arrange  to  stay  here  to-night  and  whatever 
portion  of  to-morrow  is  necessary  to  finish  them?  " 

A  worried  look  passed  over  the  man's  face,  and 
181 


McAllister's  Data  of  Ethics 

his  hand  flew  to  his  mouth  to  strangle  another 
cough. 

"  Certainly,  sir;  that  is — of  course —  Yes,  sir. 
May  I  ask  how  many,  sir?  " 

"  Only  three,  I  believe.  I  was  sure  it  could  be 
arranged.  Please  ask  Aggam  to  assist  you.  That 
is  all." 

'  Yes,  sir.  Very  good,  sir."  Pedler  hesitated 
a  moment  as  if  about  to  speak,  then  turned  listlessly 
and  plodded  back  behind  the  curtains. 

'  Very  obliging  man — Pedler.  You  see,  there 
will  be  no  difficulty,  Mr.  McAllister." 

'  Well,  I  don't  see  how  on  earth  you're  going 
to  do  it !  "  protested  McAllister  feebly.  He 
wanted  the  clothes  badly,  now  that  he  had  seen  the 
material.  "  It's  mighty  good  of  you  to  take  all 
this  trouble." 

Mr.  Pondel  made  a  deprecating  gesture. 

'  We  are  always  glad  to  serve  you,  sir!  "  he  re 
peated,  as  Wessons  escorted  the  distinguished  cus 
tomer  to  the  door. 

"  It's  a  great  privilege  to  be  employed  by  such 
a  man  as  Mr.  Pondel,"  whispered  the  salesman. 
"  He  thinks  an  enormous  lot  of  you,  sir.  Very 
fine  man — Mr.  Pondel." 

As  the  hansom  jogged  rapidly  toward  the  hotel, 
McAllister  reflected  painfully  upon  the  enormous 
sums  of  money  that  he  annually  transferred  from 

182 


McAllister's  Data  of  Ethics 

his  own  pockets  to  those  of  the  lordly  tailor.  Not 
that  the  money  made  any  particular  difference. 
The  clubman  was  well  enough  fixed,  only  some 
times  the  bills  were  unexpectedly  large.  The 
three  suits  just  ordered  would  average  fourteen 
guineas  each.  Roughly  they  would  come  to  two 
hundred  and  twenty-five  dollars,  plus  the  duty, 
which  he  always  paid  conscientiously.  And  he 
was  getting  off  easy  at  that.  He  remembered 
heaps  of  bills  for  over  two  hundred  pounds,  and 
that  was  only  the  beginning,  for  he  bought  most 
of  his  clothes  right  in  New  York. 

Climbing  the  steps  of  his  hotel,  he  wondered 
vaguely  how  long  Pedler  and  the  other  fellow 
would  have  to  work  to  finish  the  suits.  Of  course, 
they  would  be  paid  extra — were  probably  glad  to 
do  it.  The  chap  had  a  nasty  cough,  though.  Oh, 
well,  that  was  their  business — not  his !  So  long 
as  he  put  up  the  money,  Pondel  could  look  out  for 
the  rest. 

However,  he  felt  a  distinct  sense  of  relief  that 
his  own  obligations  consisted  merely  in  dressing, 
dining  at  the  Savoy  with  Aversly,  and  then  lei 
surely  taking  in  the  Alhambra  afterward.  Once 
in  his  room,  he  found  that  the  once  criminally 
inclined,  but  now  reformed  Wilkins,  who  had 
returned  to  his  master's  service  under  a  solemn 
promise  of  good  behavior,  had  already  laid  out 

183 


McAllister's  Data  of  Ethics 

his  clothes.  McAllister  rather  dreaded  dressing, 
for  the  place  was  one  of  those  heavily  oppressive 
apartments  characteristic  of  English  hotels.  Green 
marble,  yellow  plush,  and  black  walnut  filled 
the  foreground,  background,  and  middle  distance, 
while  a  marble-topped  table,  placed  squarely  in  the 
centre  of  the  room,  offered  the  only  oasis  in  the 
desert  of  upholstery,  in  the  form  of  a  single  mas 
sive  book,  bound  in  brown  morocco,  and  bearing 
the  inscription  stamped  upon  its  cover  in  heavy 
gilt: 

HOTEL  METROPOLE 

HOLY   BIBLE 
NOT  TO  BE   REMOVED 

It  fascinated  him,  recalling  the  chained  hair 
brush  and  comb  of  the  Pacific  Coast.  There  you 
were  offered  cleanliness,  here  godliness,  by  the  pro 
prietors;  only  the  means  thereto  were  not  to  be 
taken  away.  The  next  comer  must  have  his 
chance. 

As  the  clubman  idly  lifted  the  volume,  he  sud 
denly  realized  that  this  was  the  first  Bible  he  had 
actually  touched  in  over  thirty  years.  The  last 
time  he  had  owned  one  himself  had  been  at  school 
when  he  was  fifteen  years  old.  Something  moved 
him  to  carry  it  to  the  window.  The  sun  was  just 

184 


McAllister's  Data  of  Ethics 

dropping  over  the  scarlet  chimney-pots  of  London. 
Its  burnished  glare  played  upon  the  red  gilt  edges 
of  the  leaves,  as  McAllister  mechanically  allowed 
the  book  to  fall  open  in  his  hands.  He  read  these 
words : 

So  I  returned,  and  considered  all  the  oppressions  that  are 
done  under  the  sun  :  and  behold  the  tears  of  such  as  were  op 
pressed,  and  they  had  no  comforter  ;  and  on  the  side  of  their 
oppressors  there  was  power  ;  but  they  had  no  comforter. 

The  sun  sank;  the  chimneys  deadened  against 
the  sky-line.  When  Wilkins,  ten  minutes  later, 
stole  in  to  see  if  his  master  needed  his  assistance, 
he  found  McAllister  staring  into  the  darkening 
west. 

II 

The  bell  on  St.  Timothy's  tolled  twelve  o'clock 
as  McAllister's  hansom,  straight  from  the  Alham- 
bra,  clacked  into  the  moonlit  silence  of  Marl- 
borough  Square.  A  soft  breath  of  distant  gar 
dens  hung  on  the  cool  air.  The  chimneys  rose 
from  the  house-tops  sharp  against  a  pale  blue  sky 
glittering  with  stars.  Here  and  there  a  yellow 
window  gleamed  for  a  moment  under  the  eaves, 
then  vanished  mysteriously.  It  was  a  night  for 
lovers, — calm,  still,  ecstatic, — for  hayfields  under 
the  harvest  moon, — for  white,  ghostly  reaches  of 

185 


McAllister's   Data  of  Ethics 

the  Thames, — for  poetry, — for  the  exquisite  en 
joyment  of  earth's  nearest  approach  to  heaven. 

The  trap  above  McAllister's  head  opened. 

"  Beg  pardon,  sir.     Were  did  you  s'y,  sir?  " 

"  I  said  Pondel's,"  replied  McAllister,  rather 
sharply.  He  knew  the  cabby  must  think  him  a 
lunatic,  but  he  didn't  care.  He  intended  to  do  the 
decent  thing.  Hang  it !  The  fellow  could  mind 
his  own  business. 

The  hansom  crossed  the  street  and  reined  up  in 
the  shadow.  All  was  dark,  silent,  deserted.  Only 
the  brass  plate  beside  the  door  reflected  strangely 
the  moonlight  across  the  way. 

"  'Ere's  Pondel's,  sir."  The  cabby  got  down 
and  crossed  the  sidewalk  to  the  door. 

"All  shut  hup!"  he  commented.  "Close  at 
six." 

A  dark  figure  emerged  quickly  from  a  neighbor 
ing  shadow. 

"  'Ere!  Wot  is  it  you  want?  "  demanded  the 
bobby,  accosting  the  cabman  with  tentative  and 
potential  roughness. 

"  Gent  wants  Pondel's.  7  dunno  w'y.  .  Ax  'im 
yerself !  "  responded  cabby  in  an  injured  tone. 

The  bobby  turned  to  the  hansom. 

"  This  shop's  closed  at  six  o'clock,"  he  an 
nounced.  "  Wot  do  you  want?  " 

McAllister  felt  ten  thousand  times  a  fool.  The 
186 


McAllister's  Data  of  Ethics 

beauty  of  the  night,  the  odoriferous  quiet,  the 
peace  of  the  deserted  square,  all  made  his  errand 
seem  monstrously  idiotic.  The  universe  was  wheel 
ing  silently  across  the  housetops;  respectable  men 
and  women  were  in  their  beds;  only  night-hawks, 
lovers,  policemen  were  abroad.  It  was  as  if  a 
worm  were  raising  objection  to  some  cardinal  law. 
Why  should  he  try  to  upset  the  order  and  regu 
larity  of  the  London  night,  clattering  into  this 
slumbering  section,  startling  a  respectable  somno 
lent  policeman,  making  an  ass  of  himself  before 
his  cabby — because  somewhere  a  fellow  was  work 
ing  overtime  on  his  trousers.  He  imagined  that 
as  soon  as  he  had  made  his  explanation  the  bobby 
and  the  driver  would  collapse  with  merriment,  and 
hale  him  to  a  mad-house.  But  McAllister  set  his 
teeth.  He  was  fighting  for  a  principle.  He 
wouldn't  "  welch  "  now.  He  clambered  out  of 
the  hansom. 

"  I  want  to  find  Pondel,  because  he's  got  some 
fellows  working  on  my  clothes,  and  I  don't  pro 
pose  to  have  anybody  working  for  me  on  Sunday. 
Understand?  It's  Sunday.  I  don't  intend  to 
have  folks  working  on  my  clothes  when  they  ought 
to  be  in  bed." 

He  spoke  brokenly,  defiantly,  catching  his  breath 
between  words,  almost  ready  to  cry;  then  waited 
for  his  auditors  to  fall  upon  each  other's  necks  in 

187 


McAllister's  Data  of  Ethics 

derisive  mirth.  He  forgot,  however,  that  he  was 
in  London.  The  situation  was  one  apposite  to 
American  humor,  but  evoked  no  sense  of  amuse 
ment  in  the  policeman.  He  treated  McAllister's 
explanation  with  vast  respect.  Our  hero  gained 
confidence.  The  bobby  regretted  that  the  place 
seemed  closed;  ventured  to  express  his  approval  of 
the  clubman's  altruistic  effort;  dilated  upon  it  to 
the  cabby,  who  was  correspondingly  impressed. 
McAllister,  immensely  cheered,  held  forth  on  the 
wrongs  of  labor  at  some  length,  and,  finding  a 
sympathetic  audience,  produced  cigars.  The  three 
proved,  as  it  were,  a  little  group  of  humanitarians 
united  in  a  common  purpose.  Then,  suddenly,  in- 
consequently,  inexcusably,  a  man  coughed.  The 
sound  was  muffled,  but  unmistakable.  It  came 
from  a  point  directly  beneath  their  feet.  The 
bobby  rapped  sharply  on  the  pavement  several 
times. 

"  Hi  there,  you!  "  he  called.  "  Hi  there,  you 
in  Pondel's.  Come  an'  open  hup !  " 

They  could  hear  a  dull  murmur  of  conversation, 
the  cough  was  repeated,  a  bench  dragged  across  a 
floor,  some  fastening  was  slowly  loosed,  and  a  yel 
low  gleam  of  light  shot  up  through  the  shadow 
as  a  scuttle  opened  in  the  sidewalk.  A  lean, 
scrawny  figure  thrust  itself  upward,  sleepily  rub 
bing  its  eyes,  collarless,  its  shirt  open  at  the  breast, 

1 88 


McAllister's  Data  of  Ethics 

its  hair  tousled,  coughing.  McAllister,  now  con 
fident  that  he  had  the  support  of  his  companions, 
addressed  the  ghost,  in  whom  he  recognized  Ped- 
ler,  the  journeyman  from  behind  the  curtains.  The 
clubman's  face,  however,  was  concealed  in  shadow 
from  the  other. 

"You're  working  for  Pondel,  aren't  you?" 

The  ghost  coughed  again,  and  shivered, 
although  the  air  was  warm. 

"  Yes,"  it  answered  huskily. 

"  Are  you  working  on  some  clothes  for  a  gen 
tleman  who's  sailing  on  Monday?  " 

"  Yes,"  it  repeated. 

"  Then  don't,  any  more,"  chirped  McAllister 
encouragingly.  "  Those  clothes  are  for  me,  and 
I  don't  want  you  to  work  any  longer.  You  ought 
to  be  in  bed." 

"  Wotcher  givin'  us?"  grumbled  Pedler. 
"G'wan!  Leave  us  alone!"  He  started  to 
descend.  But  the  bobby  stepped  forward. 

"  Look  'ere,"  he  said  roughly.  "  Don't  you 
understand?  It's  just  as  the  gentleman  s'ys. 
You  don't  'ave  to  work  any  more  to-night.  You 
can  go  'ome." 

"  I  s'y,  wotcher  givin'  us?  "  repeated  the  other. 
"  I  cawn't  go  'ome.  Mr.  Pondel's  borders  is  to 
st'y  'ere  until  the  clothes  is  finished.  M'ybe  it's 
as  you  s'y,  but  I  cawn't  go  'ome." 

189 


McAllister's  Data  of  Ethics 

At  this  juncture  a  child  began  to  cry  drowsily 
below,  and  a  woman's  voice  could  be  heard  striv 
ing  to  comfort  it. 

"  You  don't  mean  you've  got  a  baby  down 
there!  "  exclaimed  McAllister. 

"  Only  little  Annie,"  replied  Pedler.  "  An'  the 
old  woman." 

"Anyone  else?" 

"  Aggam." 

"  Let's  go  down,"  suggested  the  bobby.  "  7  can 
make  'em  understand."  The  ghost  descended, 
dazed,  and  McAllister,  the  bobby,  and  last  of  all, 
the  cabman,  followed  down  a  creaking  ladder  into 
a  sort  of  vault  under  the  cellar.  A  small  oil  wick 
gave  out  a  feeble  fluctuating  light.  On  one  side, 
cross-legged,  sat  a  shrivelled-up,  little  old  man,  his 
brown  beard  streaked  with  gray,  stitching.  He 
did  not  look  up,  but  only  worked  the  faster.  A 
thin  woman  crouched  on  a  broken  chair,  holding  a 
little  girl  in  her  lap. 

'  There,  there,  Annie,  don't  cry.     The  bobby's 
not  arter  you.     It's  all  right,  darlin' !  " 

Strewn  about  the  cement  floor  lay  the  bolts  of 
Lancaster  which  McAllister  had  selected,  together 
with  patterns,  scissors,  and  unfinished  garments. 

"  Excuse  the  child,  sir,"  apologized  the  woman. 
"  She's  just  a  bit  sleepy." 

;t  Well,"  said  McAllister,  his  indignation  rising 
190 


McAllister's  Data  of  Ethics 

at  the  scene,  and  shame  burning  in  his  cheeks,  "  go 
right  home.  I  won't  have  you  working  on  these 
clothes  any  more."  How  he  wished  Pondel  was 
there  to  get  a  piece  of  his  mind ! 

Jim  looked  wearily  at  Aggam. 

"Wot  d'ye  s'y,  Aggam?" 

The  other  kept  on  stitching. 

"  I  gets  my  horders  from  Pondel,"  he  replied, 
shortly,  "an'  I  don't  tyke  no  horders  from  no 
one  helse !  " 

"  But  look  here,"  cried  McAllister,  "  the 
clothes  are  mine,  ain't  they?  Pondel  hasn't  any 
thing  to  do  with  it !  And  /  tell  you  to  go  home" 

1  Yes,"  grunted  Aggam.  "  An'  then  you  loses 
your  job,  does  yer?  I  don't  want  no  toff  mixin' 
into  my  affairs.  I  minds  my  business,  they  can 
mind  theirs !  " 

"  I  s'y,  that's  no  w'y  to  speak  to  the  gentle 
man  !  "  exclaimed  the  bobby  in  disgust.  "  'E's 
only  tryin'  to  do  yer  a  fyvor !  'Aven't  yer  got  no 
manners?  " 

"/  minds  my  business,  let  'im  mind  'is'n!"  re 
peated  Aggam  stolidly. 

;'  Well,  /  must  s'y"  ejaculated  the  cabby, 
"  they're  a  bloomin'  grateful  lot  I  " 

The  tall  man  seemed  to  resent  this  last  from 
one  of  his  own  station. 

"  I  appreciates  wot  the  gent  wants,"  he  said 
191 


McAllister's  Data  of  Ethics 

weakly,  "  but  it's  just  like  Aggam  s'ys.  Wot  can 
we  do?  The  gent  cawn't  tell  us  to  go  'ome !  " 

The  child  began  to  cry  again.  McAllister  was 
exasperated  almost  to  the  point  of  profanity. 

"  Don't  you  want  to  go  home?  "  he  exclaimed. 

The  woman  laughed  a  hollow,  mirthless  laugh. 

"  Annie  an'  me  'ave  st'y'd  'ere  all  the  evenin'  just 
to  be  with  Jim.  'E's  awful  sick.  An'  'e'll  'ave  to 
st'y  'ere  all  d'y  to-morrer.  Do  we  want  to  go 
'ome!" 

Her  husband  dashed  his  shirt-sleeve  across  his 
eyes. 

"  Don't  Nell,"  he  muttered.  "  I  ain't  sick.  I 
can  work.  You  go  'ome  with  the  kid." 

McAllister  thrust  a  handful  of  bank-notes 
toward  her. 

"Where  does  old  Pondel  live?"  he  inquired 
of  the  bobby. 

"  Out  in  Kew  somewheres,"  replied  the  officer. 

The  woman  was  staring  blankly  at  the  money. 
Suddenly  she  dropped  the  little  girl  and  began  to 
sob.  Jim  broke  into  a  fit  of  harsh  coughing.  The 
cabman  climbed  up  the  ladder.  The  temperature 
of  the  vault  seemed  insufferable  to  McAllister. 

"  I  suppose  you'll  go  home  if  Pondel  says  so?  " 
he  suggested. 

"  Just  watch  us !  "  growled  Aggam. 

"  Take  that  child  home,  anyhow,  and  put  it  to 
192 


McAllister's  Data  of  Ethics 

bed,"  ordered  the  clubman.     "  I'll  be  back  in  an 
hour  or  so." 

As  he  climbed  up  through  the  scuttle  into  the 
sweet,  soft  moonlight,  and  started  to  enter  the 
hansom,  the  bobby  held  out  his  hand. 

"  Excuse  me,  sir.  I  'ope  you'll  pardon  the  lib 
erty,  but,  would  you  mind,  I've  got  a  brother  in 
America — Smith's  the  naime — 'e  lives  in  a  plaice 
called  Manitoba.  Do  you  'appen  to  know  'im?  " 

"  I'm  sorry,"  replied  our  friend,  grasping  the 
other's  hand.     "  I  never  ran  across  him." 
'  Where  to  now?  "  asked  the  cabby. 

"  To  Kew,"  replied  McAllister. 

They  swung  out  of  the  square,  leaving  the  bobby 
standing  in  the  shadow  of  Pondel's. 

"  I'll  look  out  for  'em  while  you're  gone,"  called 
the  latter  encouragingly. 

They  crossed  Bond  Street,  followed  Grosvenor 
Street  into  Park  Lane,  and  plunging  round  Hyde 
Park  corner,  past  the  statue  to  England's  greatest 
soldier,  they  entered  Kingsbridge.  McAllister,  all 
awake  from  his  recent  experience,  saw  things  that 
he  had  never  observed  before — bedraggled  flower- 
girls  in  gaudy  hats,  with  heart-rending  faces ; 
drunken  laborers  staggering  along  upon  the  arms 
of  sad-featured  women;  young  girls,  slender, 
painted,  strolling  with  an  affectation  of  light- 
heartedness  along  the  glittering  sidewalks.  On 

193 


McAllister's  Data  of  Ethics 

they  jogged,  past  narrow  streets  where,  amid  the 
flare  of  torches,  the  entire  population  of  the  neigh 
borhood  swarmed,  bargained,  swore,  and  quar 
relled;  where  little  children  rolled  under  the  cos 
ters'  carts,  fighting  for  scraps  and  decaying  veg 
etables;  and  where  their  passage  was  obstructed 
by  the  throngs  of  miserable  humanity  for  whom 
this  was  their  only  park,  their  only  club.  It  being 
Saturday  night,  the  butchers  were  selling  off  their 
remnants  of  meat,  and  their  shrill  cries  could  be 
heard  for  blocks.  Several  times  the  horse  shied 
to  avoid  trampling  upon  some  old  hag  who,  clutch 
ing  her  wretched  purchase  to  her  breast,  hurried 
homeward  before  a  drunken  lout  should  snatch  it 
from  her.  McAllister  had  never  imagined  the 
like.  It  was  with  a  sigh  of  relief  that  they  left 
the  Hammersmith  Road  behind  and  at  last  reached 
the  residential  districts.  In  about  an  hour  they 
found  themselves  in  Kew.  A  cool  breeze  from 
the  country  fanned  his  cheek.  On  either  hand 
trim  little  villas,  with  smooth  lawns,  lined  the  road, 
and  the  moonlit  air  was  fragrant  with  the  smell 
of  damp  grass,  violets,  and  heliotrope.  Here  and 
there  could  be  heard  the  tinkle  of  a  cottage  piano, 
and  the  laughter  of  belated  merry-makers  on  the 
verandas. 

They  located  Mr.  Pondel's  villa  without  diffi 
culty.     Standing  back  some  thirty  yards  from  the 

194 


McAllister's  Data  of  Ethics 

street,  its  well-kept  garden  full  of  flowering  shrubs 
and  carefully  tended  beds  of  geraniums,  it  was  a 
residence  typical  of  the  London  suburb,  with  fret 
work  along  the  piazza  roof,  a  stone  dog  guarding 
each  side  of  the  steps,  and  salmon-pink  curtains 
at  the  parlor  windows.  The  door  stood  open,  a 
Japanese  lamp  burned  in  the  hallway,  and  the  mur 
mur  of  voices  floated  out  from  the  door  leading 
into  the  parlor.  McAllister  once  again  felt  the 
overwhelming  absurdity  of  his  position.  Over  his 
shoulder,  as  he  stood  by  the  hyacinths  at  the  door, 
floated  the  same  big  moon  in  the  same  soft  heaven. 
Damp  and  fragrant,  the  wind  blew  in  from  the 
lawn  and  swayed  the  portieres  in  the  narrow  hall, 
behind  which,  doubtless,  sat  the  lordly  Pondel, 
friend  of  noblemen,  adviser  of  royalty,  entrenched 
in  his  castle,  a  unit  in  an  impregnable  system. 
The  whinny  of  the  cab-horse  beyond  the  hedge 
recalled  to  McAllister  the  necessity  for  action. 
He  realized  that  he  was  losing  moral  ground  every 
instant. 

The  bell  jangled  harshly  somewhere  in  the  back 
of  the  house.  A  man's  voice — Pondel's — mut 
tered  indistinctly ;  there  was  a  feminine  whisper  in 
response;  someone  placed  a  glass  on  a  table  and 
pushed  back  a  chair.  A  clock  in  the  neighbor 
hood  struck  two,  and  Pondel  emerged  through 
the  portieres — Pondel  in  a  wadded  claret-colored 

195 


McAllister's  Data  of  Ethics 

dressing-gown  embroidered  with  birds  of  Paradise, 
in  carpet  slippers,  with  a  meerschaum  pipe,  wa 
tery  eyes,  and  slightly  disarranged  hair.  It  was 
rather  dim  in  the  hallway,  and  he  did  not  recog 
nize  his  visitor. 

"What  is  it?  What  do  you  want?"  The 
inquiry  was  abrupt  and  a  little  thick. 

"  Good  evening,  Mr.  Pondel,"  stammered  Mc 
Allister.  ''  I  hope  you'll  excuse  me  for  disturb 
ing  you  at  this  hour.  It's  about  the  clothes." 

'  W'o  is  it?"  Pondel  peered  into  his  guest's 
flushed  face.  "  W'y  Mr.  McAllister,  what  are 
you  doin'  way  out  'ere  ?  Excuse  my  appearance — 
a  little  pardonable  neglishay  of  a  Saturday  evenin'. 
Come  right  in,  won't  you  ?  Great  honor,  I'm  sure. 
Though,  if  you'll  believe  it,  I  once  'ad  the  honor 
of  a  call  from  his  Grace  the  Duke  of  Bashton 
right  in  this  very  'all.  Excuse  me  w'ile  I  an 
nounce  your  presence  to  Mrs.  Pondel." 

McAllister  said  something  about  having  to  go 
at  once,  but  Pondel  shuffled  through  the  curtains, 
almost  immediately  sweeping  them  back  with  a 
lordly  gesture  of  welcome. 

"  This  way,  Mr.  McAllister."  Our  miserable 
friend  entered  the  parlor.  "  Elizabeth,  hallow 
me  to  present  Mr.  McAllister — one  of  my  oldest 
customers." 

Elizabeth — a  fat  vision  of  fifty-five,  with  per- 
196 


McAllister's   Data  of  Ethics 

oxide  hair,  and  a  soft  pink  of  unchanging  hue 
mantling  her  elsewhere  mottled  cheeks — arose 
graciously  from  the  table  where  she  and  her  hus 
band  had  been  playing  double-dummy  bridge,  and 
courtesied. 

"  Chawmed,  I'm  sure.  What  a  beautiful 
evenin'  !  Won't  you  si'  down?"  murmured  the 
enchantress. 

McAllister  took  a  chair,  and  Pondel  pressed 
whiskey  and  water  upon  him.  Oh,  Mr.  McAllis 
ter,  needn't  be  afraid  of  it;  it  was  the  real  old 
thing;  Lord  Langollen  had  sent  him  a  dozen. 
Lizzie  would  take  a  nip  with  'em — eh,  Lizzie?  A 
gen'elman  didn't  take  that  long  trip  every  evenin', 
and  a  little  refreshment  would  not  only  do  him 
good,  but,  as  the  Yankees  said,  would  show  there 
was  no  'ard  feelin',  eh?  He  must  really  take  just 
a  drop.  Say  when ! 

Lizzie  poured  out  a  glass  for  the  much- 
embarrassed  guest.  She  was  in  a  flowered  kimona, 
even  more  "  neglishay  "  than  her  husband,  but  the 
bower  in  which  the  goddess  reclined  was  a  perfect 
pearl  of  the  decorator's  art.  Cupids,  also  "  neg 
lishay,"  toyed  with  one  another  around  a  cluster 
of  electric  burners  in  the  ceiling,  gay  streamers  of 
painted  blossoms  dangling  from  their  hands  and 
floating  down  the  walls.  Gilt  chairs,  a  white  and 
gilt  sofa,  and  a  brown  etching  in  a  Florentine 


McAllister's  Data  of   Ethics 

frame  on  each  wall,  were  the  most  conspicuous 
articles  of  furniture.  At  the  windows  the  brill 
iant  salmon-pink  curtains  bellied  softly  in  the 
breeze  that  stole  into  the  chamber  and  diluted  the 
gentle  odor  of  Parma  violets  which  exuded  from 
the  dame  in  the  kimona.  To  Pondel,  McAllis 
ter's  presence  was  an  evidence  of  his  power;  and 
his  pride,  tickled  mightily,  put  him  in  an  exquisite 
good  humor.  Certainly  the  occasion  required 
from  him,  the  host,  a  proper  felicitation. 

'  'Ere's  to  our  better  acquaintance,"  said  the 
tailor,  raising  his  glass  sententiously.  "  Lizzie, 
drink  to  Mr.  McAllister !  " 

The  three  drank  solemnly.  Then  the  voluble 
tailor  addressed  himself  to  the  task  of  entertain 
ing  his  distinguished  guest.  McAllister  could 
catch  at  no  opening  to  explain  his  visit.  Pondel 
chatted  gayly  of  Paris,  the  Continent,  and  famil 
iarly  of  the  races  and  the  beau  monde.  Appar 
ently  he  knew  (by  their  first  names)  half  the  no 
bility  of  England,  and  he  endeavored  to  place  his 
customer  equally  at  his  ease  with  them.  He  vent 
ured  that  he  knew  how  most  young  Americans 
spent  their  time  in  London  and  Paris;  dropped 
with  a  wink,  that  in  spite  of  his  present  uxorious- 
ness  he  had  been  a  bit  of  a  dog  himself,  and  ended 
by  suggesting  another  toast  to  "  A  short  life  and 
a  merry  one."  The  lady  of  the  kimona,  gram- 

198 


McAllister's  Data  of  Ethics 

matically  not  so  strong  as  her  husband,  contented 
herself  with  expansive  smiles  and  frequent  recur 
rence  to  the  tumbler. 

"  I  must  explain  my  visit,"  finally  broke  in  Mc 
Allister.  "  It's  about  the  clothes." 

Pondel  smiled  condescendingly. 

"  My  dear  Mr.  McAllister,  you  don't  need  to 
worry  in  the  slightest.  They'll  be  done  promptly 
to-morrow  evenin',  take  my  word  for  it." 

McAllister  flushed.  How  in  Heaven's  name 
could  he  ever  make  the  tailor  understand? 

"  I've  decided  I  don't  want  'em !  "  he  stam 
mered. 

Pondel's  glass  went  to  the  table  with  a  bang,  and 
he  gazed  blankly  at  his  customer.  The  clubman, 
not  realizing  the  implication,  did  not  proceed. 

"  That's  all  right,"  finally  responded  Pondel  a 
trifle  coldly.  "  There's  no  hurry  about  settlement. 
You  can  take  a  year,  if  necessary." 

Mrs.  Pondel  slipped  unobtrusively  out  of  the 
room,  leaving  a  trail  of  perfume  behind  her. 

"  Oh !  "  exclaimed  our  friend,  catching  his 
breath :  "  It  isn't  that.  But  you  see  I  can't  have 
those  men  working  over  night  and  to-morrow  on 
my  account.  It's — it's  against  my  principles." 

Pondel  brightened.  A  load  had  been  taken 
from  his  heart.  So  long  as  McAllister's  bank 
account  was  good,  any  idiosyncrasy  the  American 

199 


McAllister's  Data  of  Ethics 

might  exhibit  did  not  matter.  He  had  always  re 
garded  McAllister,  however,  as  a  man  of  the 
world,  and  had  esteemed  him  accordingly.  He 
perceived  that  he  had  been  mistaken.  His  cus 
tomer  was  merely  a  religious  crank.  He  had  had 
experience  with  them  before. 

"Pooh!  That's  all  right,"  said  he  resuming 
his  former  cordiality.  "  Why,  they  like  to  earn 
the  extra  money.  They're  all  devoted  to  my  in 
terests,  you  know." 

"  Well,  I  don't  want  them  to  work  any  longer 
on  my  clothes,"  repeated  McAllister  helplessly. 

"  I  understand,"  replied  Mr.  Pondel,  rather 
loftily.  "  I'm  afraid,  however,  it's  too  late  to  stop 
them  now.  The  cloth  'as  been  cut,  and  they  would 
not  stop  contrary  to  my  direction." 

"  That's  the  point,"  returned  McAllister,  "  I 
want  you  to  change  your  orders." 

"  But,  my  dear  sir,"  expostulated  the  tailor, 
"  you  can't  expect  me  to  go  to  London  this  time  of 
night!  Besides,  they're  nearly  done  by  this  time. 
It's  impossible !  " 

"  I'll  manage  that,"  exclaimed  McAllister. 
"  I've  been  down  to  the  shop  already,  and  they're 
waiting  for  me  now  to  come  back  with  your  per 
mission  to  go  home ;  they  wouldn't  go  without  it." 

"  Dear,  dear!  "  replied  the  tailor,  changing  his 
tactics.  "  How  much  interest  you  have  taken  in 

200 


McAllister's  Data  of  Ethics 

their  welfare !  How  kind  and  thoughtful  of  you  ! 
No,  they're  faithful  men;  they  wouldn't  think  of 
disobeying  orders.  But  what  a  shame  I  didn't 
know  of  it  before!  Why,  they  might  'ave  been 
at  'ome  and  in  their  beds.  However,  I  sha'n't 
forget  'em  at  the  end  of  the  month.  Mr.  Mc 
Allister,  I  respect  you.  I  have  never  known  of 
a  more  unselfish  act.  Permit  me  to  say  it,  sir,  you 
are  a  Christian — a  true  Christian.  I  wish  there 
were  more  like  you,  sir!  " 

McAllister  arose  to  his  feet.  His  one  thought 
now  was  to  escape  as  quickly  as  possible.  The 
sight  of  Pondel's  smiling  countenance  filled  him 
with  unutterable  disgust.  Suppose  the  fellows  at 
the  club  could  see  him  sitting  in  this  pursy 
tailor's  parlor,  with  his  scented  wife,  and  gilded 
chairs " 

The  tailor,  however,  was  anxious  to  restore  the 
cordiality  of  their  relations,  and  slopped  over  in 
his  eagerness  to  show  how  kind  he  was  to  his  men, 
and  how  considerate  of  their  well-being.  He  took 
McAllister's  arm  familiarly  as  he  showed  him  to 
the  door. 

'  Yes,"  he  added  confidentially,  "  this  is  a  very 
good  locality.  Only  the  best  people  live  in  this 
neighborhood.  Rather  a  neat  little  property." 
He  proffered  McAllister  a  cigar.  The  clubman 
wanted  to  kick  him  for  a  miserable,  dirty  cad. 

20 1 


McAllister's  Data  of    Ethics 

"  Right  back !  "  he  said  to  the  cabby,  hardly 
replying  to  the  tailor's  good-night. 

London  was  asleep.  Even  the  streets  through 
which  he  had  driven  to  Kew  were  hushed  in  prep 
aration  for  the  sodden  Sunday  to  come.  The 
moon  had  lowered  over  the  housetops,  and  St. 
Timothy's  was  in  the  shadow  as  once  again  he 
drew  up  in  front  of  Pondel's. 

"  Back  already,  sir?  "  The  bobby  stepped  out 
to  meet  him. 

"  Yes,"  replied  McAllister  wearily.  "  And 
those  fellows  down  there  are  going  home." 

The  bobby  rapped  on  the  scuttle.  Once  more 
Pedler's  head  protruded  above  the  sidewalk. 

"  Mr.  Pondel  says  you're  to  go  home,"  said 
McAllister. 

"  The  gent's  been  all  the  way  to  Kew  for  you," 
interjected  the  bobby. 

"  Hi,  Aggam !  "  exclaimed  Jim,  huskily.  "  Th' 
gentleman  says  we  are  to  go  'ome,  Mr.  Pondel 
says."  He  disappeared.  Aggam  could  be  heard 
muttering  below.  Presently  the  light  was  extin 
guished,  and  both  emerged  from  the  scuttle  and 
put  on  their  coats.  McAllister  felt  sleepily  ex 
ultant.  Pedler  pushed  the  scuttle  into  place. 

"  Well,"  said  McAllister  after  an  awkward 
pause,  "  can  I  give  you  a  lift?  Which  way  do  you 
go  ?  I  tell  you  what :  you  come  back  with  me  to 

202 


McAllister's  Data  of  Ethics 

the  hotel,  and  then  the  hansom  can  take  you  both 
home." 

Pedler  and  Aggam  looked  doubtfully  at  one 
another. 

"  Oh,  come  on,  you  fellows !  "  exclaimed  McAl 
lister,  all  his  natural  good  spirits  returning  with  a 
rush.  "  Get  in  there,  now !  " 

Pedler  and  Aggam  climbed  in,  and  McAllister 
directed  the  driver  to  go  to  the  Metropole,  after 
stuffing  a  sovereign  into  the  hand  of  his  friend, 
the  policeman.  The  stars  were  still  marching 
across  the  sky,  and  the  breeze  had  freshened. 
Every  window  was  dark ;  no  one  was  astir.  They 
heard  only  the  echoes  of  their  horse's  hoof-beats. 
Yet  the  restless  silence  that  precedes  the  dawn  was 
in  the  air. 

"  I  lives  miles  aw'y  from  'ere,"  said  Pedler  after 
a  meditated  period. 

"  So  do  I,"  supplemented  Aggam. 

"  I  don't  care,"  replied  McAllister.  "  I've  had 
this  cab  all  night,  anyhow,  and  I  want  to  celebrate. 
You  see,  this  is  the  first  time  I  ever  got  ahead  of 
my  tailor." 

Another  long  pause  ensued.  They  were  not  a 
talkative  lot,  surely.  McAllister's  flow  of  lan 
guage  absolutely  deserted  him.  He  could  think 
of  no  subject  of  conversation  whatever.  Pedler 
finally  came  to  his  assistance. 

203 


McAllister's  Data  of  Ethics 

"  I'm  thirty-seven  year  old,  an'  this  is  the  fust 
time  I've  ever  ridden  in  a  'ansom." 

"  Jiminy !  "  exclaimed  McAllister.  "  You  don't 
say  so!  What  luck!  " 

"  Fust  time  for  me,  too,"  added  Aggam. 

After  this  burst  of  confidence  the  three  rode  in 
utter  silence.  At  the  Metropole  the  clubman 
jumped  out  and  bade  his  companions  good-night. 

As  the  cabby  gathered  up  the  reins  preparatory 
to  a  fresh  start,  Aggam  leaned  forward  rather 
apologetically. 

'  You  must  hexcuse  me,"  he  remarked,  "  but  I 
don't  want  to  sail  hunder  false  colors,  and  I  feel 
as  if  I  hort  to  s'y  that  while  I'm  a  Socialist,  I  'ave 
no  particular  sympathy  with  Sabbatarianism." 

"  Well,  neither  have  I,"  replied  McAllister  en 
couragingly,  an  answer  which  probably  puzzled 
Mr.  Aggam  for  a  fortnight. 


204 


MCALLISTER'S  MARRIAGE 


McAllister's  Marriage 


THE  Bar  Harbor  train  slowly  came  to  a  stop 
beside  a  little  wooden  station.  From  over 
the  marshes  crept  a  breath  of  salty  freshness  that 
tried  vainly  to  steal  in  through  the  open  windows 
of  the  Pullman,  only  intensifying  the  stifling  heat 
inside. 

McAllister  arose  and  made  his  way  to  the  plat 
form  in  search  of  air.  A  spare,  wrinkled  octoge 
narian  was  in  the  difficult  act  of  lifting  a  small  girl 
in  a  calico  dress  to  the  platform  of  the  day  coach, 
the  child  clinging  obstinately  to  the  old  gentleman's 
neck  and  refusing  to  disentangle  herself. 

"  Mercy,  Abby!  Do  leggo!  "  he  remonstrated. 
"  Thar,  ef  ye  don't,  I'll  ask  that  man  thar  to  hoist 
ye!" 

The  little  girl  reluctantly  let  go  her  hold  and 
allowed  herself  to  be  placed  on  the  lowest  step. 

"That's  a  good  girl,"  continued  her  guardian; 
then  addressing  McAllister,  he  inquired  conver 
sationally: 

"  Be  ye  goin'  to  Bangor?  " 
207 


McAllister's  Marriage 

"  How's  that?  Ye-es,  I  believe  I  am.  At  least 
the  train  passes  through,"  responded  McAllister 
doubtfully,  apprehensive  of  undesirable  complica 
tions. 

The  old  fellow  produced  from  his  waistcoat- 
pocket  a  ticket  which  he  placed  in  the  child's  hand. 
Then  he  turned  her  around  and  gave  her  a  little 
push  up  the  steps. 

;'  Wall,  jest  keep  an  eye  on  Abby,  will  ye?  " 

"  Good-by,  Uncle !  "  cried  the  little  girl,  climb 
ing  laboriously  up  to  where  the  clubman  stood  and 
making  a  little  bow,  which  he  gravely  returned. 

"  I  don't  know     .     .     ."  he  began. 

"  That's  all  right,"  explained  the  farmer. 
"  Her  aunt'll  meet  her.  Jest  see  she  don't  bother 
no  one.  Lemme  pass  ye  her  duds." 

The  octogenarian  forthwith  handed  up  to  Mc 
Allister  a  cloth  valise,  a  pasteboard  box,  and  a 
large  paper  bag. 

"  Her  lunch  is  in  the  bag,"  said  he.  "  Don't 
let  her  drink  none  o'  that  ice-water.  My  wife 
says  it  hez  germs  into  it." 

"  But  I  don't      .      .      ."  gasped  our  friend. 

"  Be  keerful  o'  that  box,"  interrupted  her  uncle. 
'  There's  two  dozen  hen's  eggs  in  it.     If  she's 
good,  you  might  buy  her  a  cent's  worth  o'  pepper 
mints  to  Portland."     He  fumbled  uncertainly  in 
his  breeches'  pocket. 

208 


McAllister's  Marriage 

"  Do  you  expect  me  .  .  ..."  ejaculated  Mc 
Allister. 

"  Give  my  love  to  yer  aunt,"  added  the  other  as 
the  train  started.  "  Good-by!  "  And  pulling  a 
large  red  pocket-handkerchief  from  his  coat-tails 
he  fanned  the  air  vaguely  as  they  moved  slowly 
away  from  him. 

"  Oh,  isn't  it  nice !  "  cried  the  little  girl,  who 
appeared  quite  at  ease  with  her  new  acquaint 
ance. 

"  Ye-es — certainly — of  course,"  he  replied, 
wondering  what  he  should  do  with  his  charge.  "  I 
suppose  we  had  better  go  in  and  sit  down,  don't 
you  think?  " 

He  stood  aside  waiting  for  her  to  precede  him 
into  the  parlor  car. 

"  What  a  lovely  place!  "  she  exclaimed  as  her 
eyes  rested  upon  the  rosewood  and  the  velvet  chairs. 
"  Am  I  really  to  ride  in  this?  " 

"  Why,  where  should  you  ride,  to  be  sure?  "  he 
inquired,  beginning  to  regain  his  self-possession. 

'  The  car  had  iron  seats  before,"  she  informed 
him. 

"  How  extraordinary !  " 

"  This  is  an  ever  so  much  prettier  train,"  she 
added.  "  I'm  afraid  I'll  hurt  the  plush."  She 
took  out  a  diminutive  handkerchief  and  spread  it 
out  to  sit  upon.  The  clubman  with  an  amused 

209 


McAllister's  Marriage 

expression  swung  round  another  chair  and  sat 
down  opposite. 

"  My  name's  Abigail  Martha  Higgins,"  she 
said,  taking  off  her  little  straw  hat.  "  I  live  in 
Bangor  with  my  aunt.  That  old  man  was  Uncle 
Moses  Higgins.  Aunt  doesn't  love  his  wife." 

"  Dear  me !  "  sympathized  McAllister. 

"  My  father  and  mother  are  in  heaven,"  she 
continued  in  matter-of-fact  tones.  "  Up  there. 
Wouldn't  you  hate  to  live  up  in  the  sky  and  do 
nothin'?" 

"  I  certainly  should,"  he  answered  with  gravity. 

'  We  all  came  down  from  there,  you  know. 
Do  you  think  we  were  born  all  in  one  piece,  or  put 
together  afterward?" 

McAllister  pondered. 

"What's  your  name?" 

"  McAllister,"  he  replied. 

'  That's  a  funny  name !  "  she  commented.  "  It 
sounds  like  McCafferty — that's  Deacon  Brewer's 
hired  man's  name." 

"  Do  you  think  so?  "  asked  the  clubman  apolo 
getically,  feeling  that  his  parents  had  done  him  an 
irreparable  injury. 

"  I'll  call  you  Mister  Mac,"  added  the  child, 
"  and  you  may  call  me  Abby,  'cause  I'm  only  eight. 
Do  you  live  to  Boston  ?  " 

"  No;  New  York.     An  awful  way  off." 

2IO 


McAllister's  Marriage 

"  Have  they  got  a  Free-Will  Meetin'-house 
there?  "  she  inquired  knowingly. 

"  I'm  sure  I  don't  know,"  he  answered,  feeling 
wofully  ignorant  of  all  matters  of  real  importance. 

"  Then  it  must  be  a  very  small  place,"  she  de 
cided.  "  All  big  places  have  a  Free-Will  Meetin'- 
house,  Uncle  Moses  says." 

At  this  moment  Wilkins  approached  to  inquire 
if  his  master  wanted  anything. 

"  Is  there  a  Free-Will  Meetin'-house  in  New 
York?  "  inquired  the  clubman. 

'Yes,  sir;  I  believe  so,  sir.  That  is  to  say,  a 
Baptist  place  of  worship,  sir,"  he  answered  sol 
emnly. 

"  Is  that  your  brother?  "  inquired  Abby. 

"  No — "  hesitated  McAllister,  doubtful  as  to 
what  the  valet's  equivalent  would  be  in  his  little 
friend's  world. 

"  What's  your  name?  "  inquired  Abby. 

;t  Wilkins,  miss,"  answered  the  valet. 

"  What  a  lovely  name !  "  cried  Abby.  "  It's 
much  nicer  than  his'n." 

Wilkins  stepped  back  a  few  paces  aghast. 

"  That  box  is  chuck  full  of  eggs,"  announced 
Abby.  "  I  wonder  where  the  hens  get  them." 

"  I  give  it  up,"  said  the  clubman. 

"  We  have  a  black  horse  on  our  farm,"  she  con 
tinued.  "  It  used  to  be  a  girl,  but  now  it's  a  boy." 

211 


McAllister's  Marriage 

"Indeed!"  exclaimed  McAllister. 

"  Yes,  aunt  had  her  tail  cut  off.  Boys  have 
short  hair,  you  know — that's  how  you  tell." 

At  this  Wilkins  disappeared  rapidly  into  the 
background. 

"  Uncle  Moses'  wife  don't  love  children,"  the 
child  continued.  "  She  has  the  rheumatiz  in  her 
thigh." 

"  But  she  must  like  you,  Abby,"  urged  her  new 
friend. 

"  No,  she  don't.  She  don't  love  me  'cause  I 
love  Aunt  Abby,  an'  Aunt  Abby  don't  love  her." 

"  I  see,"  said  McAllister. 

The  clubman  soon  became  acquainted  with 
Abby's  entire  family  history,  and  rapidly  realized 
that  the  mind  of  a  child  was  a  thing  undreamed  of 
in  his  philosophy.  As  she  pattered  on  he  conversed 
gravely  with  her,  trying  to  answer  her  multitu 
dinous  questions.  All  her  world  was  good  save 
Uncle  Moses'  wife,  and  her  confidence  in  the  club 
man  was  entire.  She  admired  his  clothes,  his 
watch-chain,  and  his  scarf-pin,  and  ended  by  direct 
ing  him  to  read  to  her,  which  McAllister  obe 
diently  did.  None  of  the  magazines  seemed  to 
contain  suitable  articles,  so  with  some  misgivings 
he  purchased  various  colored  weeklies,  remember 
ing  vaguely  his  own  delight  in  the  misadventures 
of  certain  chubby  ladies  and  stout  gentlemen  upon 

212 


McAllister's  Marriage 

rear  pages,  perused  furtively  when  waiting  at  the 
barber's  to  get  his  hair  cut  as  a  child.  For  half 
an  hour  her  interest  remained  tense,  but  then  she 
wearied  of  using  her  eyes,  and,  patting  McAllis 
ter's  fat  chin,  ordered  him  to  tell  her  a  story.  Here 
was  a  new  difficulty.  He  had  never  told  a  story 
in  his  life,  but  there  was  no  help  for  it,  no  escape, 
as  she  climbed  into  his  lap. 

"  Begin  with  once  onup-a-time,"  she  ordered. 

"  Well,"  he  obeyed  "  Once  '  onup  '  a  time  there 
was  a  man  who  lived  in  a  club " 

"A  what?"  sharply  interrupted  Abby. 

"  A  big  white  house  with  heaps  of  rooms,"  he 
corrected.  "  And  as  he  had  nobody  dependent  on 
him,  all  he  had  to  do  was  to  eat  and  sleep  and 
look  at  the  sky." 

"  Didn't  he  have  any  children?  " 

"  Nobody  in  the  world,"  answered  McAllister. 

"  Poor  man !  "  sighed  Abby.  "  Didn't  he  keep 
any  hens?  " 

"  Not  even  a  hen !  " 

"  I  know  a  big  house  just  like  that,"  said  Abby. 
"  Old  Captain  Barnard  used  to  live  in  it.  Wasn't 
he  lonely?  " 

"  Sometimes." 

"  Did  anyone  live  with  him?  " 

"  His  hired  man,"  answered  the  clubman  with 
a  smile,  looking  down  the  car  to  where  Wilkins 

213 


McAllister's  Marriage 

sat  in  solitary  grandeur.  "  And  by  and  by  he  got 
so  old  and  so  fat  that  nobody  would  marry  him, 
while  the  wives  of  other  men  he  knew  forgot  to 
ask  him  to  dinner." 

"Poor  dear  man!"  murmured  Abby,  "I 
should  think  he'd  have  wished  he  hadn't  been 
born." 

"  Sometimes  he  did,"  answered  the  story-teller. 
"  And  he  longed  for  some  people  to  really  care  for 
him,  and  for  some  little  children  to  keep  him  com 
pany." 

"  Did  he  have  a  cow?  " 

"  No,  not  even  a  cow." 

Abby  laughed  sleepily. 

"  But  didn't  he  ever  have  any  fun?  " 

"  He  thought  he  did,  but  he  didn't,  really." 

"  I'm  awful  sorry  for  him!  "  said  Abby.  "  If 
I  met  him  I  would  give  him  my  white  hen." 

"  He  used  to  pay  for  dinners  for  people,  and 
send  them  flowers  and  candy  and  go  to  see 
them " 

"  Sunday  afternoons?  " 
'  Yes ;  Sunday  afternoons." 

"  He  was  really  very  nice,"  said  Abby. 

"  Do  you  think  so?  "  asked  McAllister  eagerly. 

"  Why,  of  course.     Don't  you  think  so?  " 

"  So-so,"  said  the  clubman. 

"  But  he  never  hurt  anyone?  " 
214 


McAllister's  Marriage 

"  No,  never." 

"  And  gave  the  hired  man  plenty  of  victuals?  " 

"  Much  more  than  was  good  for  him,"  said  Mc 
Allister  with  conviction. 

"  I  like  that  man,"  said  Abby.  "  He  was  a 
good  man." 

"  But  some  people  said  he  was  an  idle  fellow," 
insisted  McAllister. 

"  But  that  didn't  do  anybody  any  harm,"  said 
Abby. 

"  No,  certainly  not." 

"  And  he  wasn't  cross?  " 

"  No,  almost  never." 

"  Then,"  said  Abby,  "  he  was  a  good  man,  and 
I  will  marry  him  if  he  asks  me." 

And  with  that  she  dropped  her  head  on  his  arm 
and  fell  fast  asleep. 

"  Can't  I  hold  the  young — person,  for  you, 
sir?  "  inquired  the  valet  in  a  whisper. 

"  Certainly  not"  responded  McAllister. 

Over  the  flitting  pines  circled  the  crows,  black 
dots  against  the  deep  blue;  lazy  cows  stood  knee- 
deep  in  fields  frosted  with  daisies  and  watched 
seemingly  without  interest  the  passing  train;  little 
puffs  of  white  in  serried  ranks  moved  slowly  out 
of  the  north,  never  approaching  nearer,  dissolving 
at  the  meridian;  on  the  near  horizon  a  line  of  in 
digo  mountains  tumbled  southward;  white  farm- 

215 


McAllister's  Maraiage 

houses  swept  slowly  by;  at  dusty  crossings  gray- 
whiskered  farmers  sat  loosely  holding  the  reins  in 
amiable  conformity  with  the  injunction  painted 
upon  weather-worn  signs  to  "  Look  out  for  the 
engine  ";  at  times  the  train  passed  over  rocky  bed 
ded  streams  dammed  for  milling,  and  once  or  twice 
across  rivers  half  choked  with  logs  upon  which 
men  ran  like  water-bugs;  then  through  red  brick 
towns,  and  towns  with  square  granite  stores  and 
offices,  and  towns  of  white  and  green,  marking 
the  three  disconnected  periods  of  the  architec 
tural  development  of  Maine;  and  everywhere  the 
pines. 

In  the  midst  of  a  stretch  of  thick  woods  the 
engine  began  to  whistle  frantically.  A  brakeman, 
followed  closely  by  a  conductor,  hurried  through 
the  car.  The  wheels  ground  harshly  and  the  train 
gradually  ceased  to  move.  Ahead  could  be  heard 
the  loud  pounding  of  the  engine  and  the  roar  of 
escaping  steam.  Volumes  of  smoke,  white  and 
black,  rolled  over  the  pines  and  cast  rapidly  chang 
ing  shadows  upon  the  ground.  Wilkins,  who  had 
gone  forth  to  seek  information,  now  returned. 

"  There's  a  freight  wreck  just  a'ead,  sir.  The 
conductor  says  as  how  we  shall  be  delayed  'ere  at 
least  nine  hours." 

McAllister  glanced  down  at  the  little  form  in 
his  arms.  It  had  not  moved.  Gently  he  carried 

216 


McAllister's  Marriage 

her  along  the  aisle,  out  upon  the  platform,  and 
down  the  steps  to  the  ground.  Still  she  did  not 
awake.  Up  the  track  he  could  see  groups  of  ex 
cited  passengers  gesticulating  around  grotesque 
piles  of  wreckage  upon  which  a  locomotive  lay 
with  its  wheels  in  the  air.  Beside  the  track 
stretched  a  pine  grove,  its  soft  carpet  of  needles 
flecked  with  sunlight.  At  the  foot  of  one  giant 
tree,  on  a  bed  of  gray  moss,  the  clubman  laid  his 
little  charge  and  threw  himself  at  her  feet.  An 
irritable  family  of  nervous  crows  flapped  noisily 
away  to  the  other  side  of  the  track,  assembled  in 
angry  consultation  in  a  hemlock,  deputed  a  spy, 
who  cautiously  reconnoitred,  and,  on  the  latter's 
report,  returned.  At  a  safe  distance  Wilkins  sat 
upon  a  windfall,  and  with  one  eye  upon  his  sleep 
ing  master  smoked  rapidly  one  of  McAllister's 
cigars. 

II 

"  Yes,  Miss  Higgins  got  yer  telegram,"  an 
swered  Deacon  Brewer,  as  they  drove  slowly  along 
the  river  in  the  dusty  heat  of  the  early  July  morn 
ing.  "  Ef  she  hadn't  I  reckon  she'd  'a'  gone  nigh 
crazy." 

They  were  in  an  open  two-seated  buck-board. 
McAllister,  holding  Abby  in  his  lap,  occupied  the 

217 


McAllister's  Marriage 

front  seat  with  the  Deacon,  while  Wilkins  sat 
behind  with  the  valise  and  the  pasteboard  box. 

"  It  was  a  tiresome  delay  and  really  a  very  fort 
unate  escape,"  responded  McAllister.  "  Abby 
behaved  beautifully." 

"  She's  a  good  child,"  said  the  Deacon.  "  Her 
mother  was  a  fine  woman,  and  she's  goin'  to  be 
just  like  her." 

"Are  we  nearly  home?"  asked  the  little  girl, 
rubbing  her  eyes. 

"  'Most,"  answered  the  Deacon.  "  Are  ye 
hungry?  " 

"  I  got  her  some  bread  and  milk  at  a  farm 
house,"  explained  McAllister,  "  but  none  of  us 
have  had  any  breakfast  yet." 

"  Wall,  I  reckon  Miss  Higgins  '11  be  prepared 
for  ye,"  said  the  Deacon.  "  She's  a  liberal  woman 
an'  a  smart  woman,  but  all  the  same,  the  farm's 
going  to  be  sold  for  taxes  next  week." 

Abby  had  fallen  asleep,  but  the  clubman  started 
and  looked  anxiously  at  her  at  this  piece  of  intel 
ligence. 

"  She  don't  know  nuthin'  about  it,"  said  the 
farmer.  "  Miss  Higgins  can't  run  a  hard-scrab 
ble  farm,  nor  no  one  can  and  make  a  livin'  out'n 
it.  It  ain't  worth  five  dollars  an  acre." 

'  What  will  she  do?  "  asked  the  clubman. 

"  Darn  ef  I  know,"  responded  the  other.  "  She 
218 


McAllister's  Marriage 

kin  help  around  some,  I  guess.  Deacon  Giddings 
has  a  powerful  lot  of  company.  'N  any  woman 
kin  sew.  She  kin  make  out,  I  reckon." 

"  But  the  child?  "  whispered  McAllister. 

"  Her  Uncle  Moses'll  hev  to  take  her,"  an 
swered  the  Deacon. 

"Jiminy!"  ejaculated  the  clubman,  recalling 
the  little  girl's  description  of  her  uncle's  wife. 
"  She  won't  like  that." 

"  Beggars  can't  be  choosers,"  said  the  Deacon 
dryly. 

A  turn  in  the  road  brought  them  within  view  of 
a  small,  low  farm-house,  with  good-sized  barn, 
lying  in  a  field  between  the  woods  and  the  river, 
here  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  in  width.  The 
pines  grew  close  to  the  road  upon  the  left,  but 
upon  the  other  side  the  land  had  been  well  cleared 
to  the  Penobscot's  bank.  Huge  piles  of  stones, 
ten  or  twelve  feet  long,  five  or  so  broad,  and  four 
or  five  feet  high,  were  monuments  to  the  energy 
and  industry  of  some  former  owner. 

"  Gosh,  how  Henery  worked  to  clear  this 
farm !  "  remarked  the  Deacon.  "  He  hove  stone 
for  twenty  years,  an'  then  died.  Look  at  them 
trees !  " 

He  pointed  dramatically  to  a  large  orchard  con 
taining  row  upon  row  of  young  apple-trees. 

At  the  sound  of  the  wheels  a  woman  came  slowly 
219 


McAllister's  Marriage 

out  of  the  side  door  and  watched  their  approach. 
She  had  the  pale,  sickly  countenance  of  the  wife 
of  the  inland  Maine  farmer,  and  her  limp  dress  511 
concealed  the  angularity  of  her  form.  Her  eyes 
showed  that  she  had  passed  a  sleepless  night.  Mc 
Allister  leaped  out  and  lifted  Abby  down.  The 
woman  neither  spoke  to  nor  kissed  the  child,  but 
clutched  her  tightly  in  her  arms.  Then  she  nodded 
to  the  new-comers. 

"  I'm  obliged  to  ye,  Deacon  Brewer,"  she  said. 
"  Is  this  the  man  who  sent  the  telegram?  Won't 
ye  come  in  and  set  down?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,"  cried  Abby  ecstatically.  "  Get  out, 
Mr.  Wilkins!  I  want  to  show  you  the  black 
horse,  and  all  the  hens." 

"  I  must  be  gettin'  back,"  muttered  the  Deacon. 

"  Could  you  let  us  have  a  bite  of  breakfast?  " 
inquired  McAllister.  "  My  train  doesn't  go  until 
twelve  o'clock."  To  return  to  Bangor  at  this  par 
ticular  time  did  not  suit  him. 

"  Such  as  it  is,"  replied  Miss  Higgins. 

"  Could  you  arrange  to  call  out  for  me  in  an 
hour  or  so?  "  asked  McAllister. 

"  I  reckon  I  kin,"  said  the  Deacon  with  some 
reluctance.  "  I'll  hev  ter  charge  ye  fifty  cents." 

"  Of  course,"  said  McAllister. 

Wilkins  took  down  the  parcels,  and  the  Deacon 
drove  slowly  away. 

220 


McAllister's  Marriage 

"  I'll  scrape  somethin'  together  in  a  few  min 
utes,"  said  Miss  Higgins.  "  How  much  was  that 
telegram?  " 

"  Oh,  that's  all  right!  "  said  the  abashed  club 
man. 

"  No,  it  ain't.  Money's  money.  Was  it  ez 
much  ez  a  quarter?  " 

McAllister  acknowledged  the  amount. 

"  I  thought  so,"  commented  Miss  Higgins. 
"  It  was  wuth  it."  She  had  the  money  all  ready, 
and  handed  it  to  McAllister. 

Etiquette  seemed  to  demand  its  acceptance. 

"  Did  you  say  your  name  was  McAllister? 
Who's  this  man?  " 

"  His  name  is  Wilkins." 

"  Well,"  said  Aunt  Abby,  "  one  of  ye  might 
split  up  that  log,  if  ye  don't  mind,  while  I  get  the 
breakfast." 

She  turned  into  the  house. 

McAllister  looked  doubtfully  at  the  wood-pile. 

"  Let  Mr.  Wilklns  chop  the  wood !  "  shouted 
Abby;  "  I  want  to  show  you  the  ba-an." 

"  Wilkins,"  said  McAllister,  "  wood-chopping 
is  an  art  sanctified  in  this  country  by  tradition." 

"  Very  good,  sir,"  answered  Wilkins. 

Abby  grasped  McAllister's  hand  and  tugged 
him  joyfully  over  the  poverty-stricken  farm.  They 
visited  the  orchard,  the  pig-sty,  the  hen-house,  ad- 

221 


McAllister's  Marriage 

mired  the  horse  that  had  been  a  girl,  and  ended  at 
the  water's  edge. 

;<  We  ketch  salmon  here  in  the  spring,"  ex 
plained  Abby;  "  and  smelts." 

Across  the  eddying  river  quiet  farms  slept  in 
the  hot  sunshine.  Two  men  in  a  dory  swung 
slowly  up-stream.  At  their  feet  the  clear  water 
rippled  against  the  stones.  In  his  mind  the  club 
man  pictured  the  stifling  city  and  the  squalor  of 
relative  existence  there. 

"  It's  beautiful,  Abby,"  he  said. 

"  It's  the  loveliest  place  in  the  whole  world,"  she 
answered,  holding  his  hand  tightly.  "  And  I  shall 
never,  never  go  away." 

Behind  them  came  the  shrill  tones  of  Aunt 
Abby's  voice  bidding  them  to  breakfast.  Wil- 
kins,  coatless,  was  bearing  some  mangled  frag 
ments  of  log  toward  the  kitchen.  His  beaded  face 
spoke  unutterable  dejection. 

"Well,  set  daown;  it's  all  there  is,"  said  Miss 
Higgins. 

McAllister  sat,  and  Abby  climbed  into  a  high 
chair.  Wilkins  remained  standing. 

"  Ain't  ye  goin'  to  set?  "  inquired  Miss  Higgins. 

Wilkins  reddened. 

'  Well,  ye  be  the  most  bashful  man  I  ever  met," 
remarked  the  lady.  "  Set  daown  and  eat  ver 
victuals." 

222 


McAllister's  Marriage 

"  Sit  down,"  said  McAllister,  and  for  the  sec 
ond  time  master  and  man  shared  a  meal. 

The  little  room  was  bare  of  decoration  except 
for  some  colored  lithographs  and  wood-cuts,  which 
for  the  most  part  represented  the  funeral  corteges 
of  distinguished  Americans,  with  a  few  hospital 
scenes  and  the  sinking  of  a  steamship.  A  rug 
soiled  to  a  dull  drab  made  a  sort  of  mud  spot 
before  the  fireplace;  a  knitted  tidy,  suggestive  of 
the  antimacassar,  ornamented  the  only  rocker;  at 
one  end  stood  the  stove,  and  hard  by  two  fixed 
tubs.  Everything  except  the  carpet  was  scrupu 
lously  clean. 

Miss  Higgins  brought  to  the  table  a  dish  of 
steaming  boiled  eggs,  half  a  loaf  of  white  bread, 
and  a  vegetable  dish  with  a  large  piece  of  butter. 

"  £'11  have  some  coffee  for  ye  in  a  minute,"  she 
remarked  as  she  placed  the  dishes  before  them. 

McAllister  broke  some  of  the  eggs  into  a  tum 
bler  and  cut  the  bread. 

;'  What  might  be  your  business?  "  inquired  Miss 
Higgins. 

«Er— well—  "  hesitated  McAllister.  "  I've 
travelled  quite  a  bit." 

"  I  had  a  cousin  in  the  hardware  line,"  remarked 
the  hostess  reminiscently.  "  He  travelled  every- 
wheres.  Has  it  ever  taken  you  ez  fur  as  St. 
Louis?" 

223 


McAllister's  Marriage 

"  No,"  said  McAllister.  "  My  line  never  took 
me  so  far." 

"  Andrew  died  there — of  the  water.  What's 
your  business?  "  continued  Miss  Higgins  to  Wil- 
kins. 

"  I'm  with  Mr.  McAllister,  ma'am." 

"Oh!  same  firm?" 

Wilkins  coughed  violently  and  evaded  the  inter 
rogation. 

"  Mr.  Wilkins  handles  gents'  clothing,  under 
wear,  haberdashery,  and  notions,"  interposed  Mc 
Allister  gravely. 

Wilkins  swayed  in  his  seat  and  grew  purple 
around  the  gills. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Wilkins!  "  cried  Abby,  "  what's  the 
matter?  You  will  burst !  Take  a  drink  of  water." 

The  valet  obediently  tried  to  do  as  she  bade  him. 

"  How  much  is  land  worth  around  here?  "  asked 
the  clubman.  "  And  what  do  you  raise?  " 

Miss  Higgins  looked  at  him  suspiciously. 

"  We  raise  pertaters,  some  corn  and  oats,  and 
get  a  purty  fair  apple  crop  in  the  autumn." 

"  Must  have  been  hard  work  clearing  the  farm," 
added  McAllister,  "  if  one  can  judge  by  the  piles 
of  stones." 

"Work?  I  guess  'twas  work!"  sniffed  Miss 
Higgins.  "  You  travellin'  men  hain't  got  no  idee 
of  what  real  work  is.  There  ain't  a  stone  in  the 

224 


McAllister's  Marriage 

nineteen  acres  of  farm  land.  Henery  picked  'em 
all  up  by  hand." 

"  Are  you  Abby's  guardian?  "  asked  McAllister. 

"  Yes,"  said  Miss  Higgins.  "  I'm  all  the  folks 
she's  got,  except  Moses,  down  to  Portsmouth,  and 
a  lot  of  good  he  is  with  that  wife  he's  got!  " 

Wilkins  now  asked  awkwardly  to  be  excused. 

"  That  friend  of  yourn  seems  to  be  a  dummy!  " 
remarked  Miss  Higgins  after  the  valet  had  disap 
peared. 

"  He  isn't  much  in  the  social  line,"  admitted  his 
master.  "  But  he  knows  his  business." 

"  I'm  goin'  out  to  show  Mr.  Wilkins  the  bee 
hive,"  cried  Abby,  slipping  down  from  her  chair. 
"  Come  right  along,  won't  you?  " 

"  I'll  be  there  in  just  a  minute,"  said  McAllister. 

Abby  grabbed  up  her  sunbonnet  and  ran  skip 
ping  out  of  the  kitchen. 

"  She's  a  dear  little  girl,"  said  McAllister.  "  I 
hope  she'll  have  a  chance  to  get  a  good  education." 

"  Education  behind  a  counter  in  Bangor  is  all 
she'll  get,"  answered  her  aunt. 

They  sat  in  silence  for  a  moment,  and  then  Mc 
Allister,  feeling  the  craving  induced  by  habit,  drew 
an  Obsequio  from  his  pocket,  and  asked: 

"  Do  you  object  to  smoking?  " 

Miss  Abby  bristled. 

"  I  don't  want  none  o'  them  se-gars  in  this 
225 


McAllister's  Marriage 

house,  so  long's  I'm  in  it !  "  she  exclaimed. 
"  Ain't  out-doors  good  enough  for  you,  without 
stinkin'  up  the  kitchen?  " 

"  I  didn't  mean  any  offence,"  apologized  Mc 
Allister.  "  I'll  wait  till  I  go  out,  of  course." 

"  One  of  the  devil's  tricks !  "  sniffed  Miss  Abby. 

McAllister,  terribly  embarrassed,  got  up  and 
stepped  to  the  window.  The  coffee  had  been  ex 
ecrable,  but  a  benign  influence  animated  him. 
Down  the  slope  toward  the  gently  flowing  Penob- 
scot  little  Abby  was  leading  Wilkins  by  the  hand. 
The  boy-horse  kicked  his  heels  in  a  daisy-flecked 
pasture  beyond  the  barn. 

"What  did  you  say  the  farm  was  worth?" 
asked  the  clubman. 

"  There's  a  hundred  and  eighty-one  acres  o' 
woodland,  and  the  cleared  land  just  makes  two 
hundred.  It  ought  to  be  worth  eighteen  hundred 
dollars." 

"  I  know  a  man  who  wants  a  farm.  He  says 
some  day  all  this  river  front  will  be  valuable  for 
a  summer  resort.  I'm  authorized  to  buy  for  him. 
I'll  give  you  sixteen  hundred  and  fifty.  Is  it  a 
bargain?  " 

Miss  Abby  turned  pale. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know !  It  seems  dreadfux  to  sell 
it,  after  all  the  years  Henery  put  into  cleanin'  of  it 
up.  I  was  hopm'  somehow  that  maybe  I  could  get 

226 


McAllister's  Marriage 

work  on  the  farm  from  them  as  bought  it  and 
keep  Abby  here  for  a  while  longer." 

"That's  all  right,"  said  McAllister.  "  My 
principal  is  buying  it  on  a  speculation.  You  can 
stay  indefinitely." 

"  How  about  rent?  "  asked  Miss  Abby. 

"  You  can  take  care  of  the  farm,  and  he  won't 
charge  you  any  rent." 

The  terms  having  been  finally  arranged  to  Miss 
Abby's  satisfaction,  McAllister  drew  a  small 
check-book  from  his  pocket  and  filled  out  a  voucher 
for  the  amount. 

"  We  can  sign  the  papers  later,"  said  he  with  a 
smile. 

Miss  Abby  took  the  slip  of  paper  doubtfully. 

"  How  do  I  know  I  ain't  gettin'  cheated?  "  she 
asked.  "  Suppose  this  should  turn  out  to  be  no 
good?" 

"  Then  you'd  have  the  farm,"  said  McAllister. 

He  fumbled  in  his  pocket  until  he  found  a  clean 
letter-back  and  with  his  stylographic  pen  rapidly 
wrote  the  following: 

"  I  hereby  give  and  convey  the  Henry  Higgins 
farm,  heretofore  purchased  by  me,  tojny  friend 
Abigail  Martha  Higgins,  in  consideration  for 
much  of  value  of  which  no  one  knows  but  myself. 
In  witness  whereof  I  sign  my  name  and  affix  a 
seal." 

227 


McAllister's  Marriage 

He  found  a  used  postage-stamp  that  still  had  a 
trifle  of  gum  on  its  back  and  made  use  of  it  as  a 
fragmentary  seal. 

While  in  some  doubt  as  to  the  legal  sufficiency 
of  this  instrument,  McAllister  felt  that  its  intend- 
ment  was  unmistakable.  Having  replaced  his 
pen,  he  carefully  folded  the  document  and  thrust 
it  into  his  pocket.  Just  at  this  moment  Miss  Hig- 
gins  announced  the  return  of  Deacon  Brewer,  who 
was  wheeling  slowly  into  the  gate.  Toward  the 
orchard  McAllister  could  see,  as  he  stepped  to  the 
door,  little  Abby  still  tugging  along  Wilkins,  whose 
massive  and  emotionless  face  was  glistening  with 
the  heat. 

"  Hit's  very  'ot,  sir !  "  he  remarked  tentatively 
to  his  master.  "  I've  been  to  see  the  'ives." 

"  How  funny  Mr.  Wilkins  talks !  "  said  Abby. 
"  He  told  me  he  knew  a  boy  once  who  got  stung, 
and  said  the  bee  bit  'im  in  'is  'eadf  Do  all  drum 
mers  talk  like  that?  " 

"  Drummers !  "  exclaimed  Wilkins. 

"  Aunt  said  you  were  both  drummers;  I  s'pose 
you  left  your  drums  somewhere.  I  don't  like  'em ; 
they  make  too  much  music.  They  have  them  in 
the  circus  parade  in  Bangor  every  year." 

"  Be  you  folks  ready  to  start?  "  inquired  Deacon 
Brewer.  "  Purty  nice  view  of  the  water  from 
here,  ain't  they?  There's  a  good  well  on  the 

228 


McAllister's  Marriage 

place,  too,  and  a  few  boat-loads  of  manure  would 
give  you  crops  to  beat — all.  Don't  know  enybody 
thet  wants  to  speckalate  a  little  in  farmin'  land,  do 
ye?  This  here  is  a  good,  likely  place.  Reckon 
you  kin  buy  it  cheap." 

"  Sh-h !  "  said  McAllister,  laying  his  finger  on 
his  lips. 

"  No  one  sha'n't  ever  buy  this  farm,"  said  Abby; 
"  I'm  goin'  to  live  here  always." 

"  Wall,"  said  the  Deacon,  "  better  be  movin'. 
I  don't  like  to  keep  the  mare  standin'  in  the 
sun." 

"  Are  you  goin'  away?  "  cried  Abby  in  agonized 
tones.  "  You'll  come  back  soon,  won't  you?  " 

"  I  hope  so,  very  soon,"  said  McAllister. 
"  Don'  you  want  to  show  me  the  boy-horse  before 
I  start?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  yes !  "  she  cried,  seizing  his  hand. 

The  stout  clubman  and  the  little  girl  walked 
slowly  across  the  grass-grown  drive  to  the  daisy 
field  beside  the  barn,  talking  busily. 

'  Your  friend's  bought  this  farm,"  announced 
Miss  Abby  to  Wilkins. 

"  'Oly  Moses!  "  ejaculated  the  valet. 

"  By  gum !  "  exclaimed  the  Deacon.  "  What 
did  he  give?  " 

"  Sixteen  hundred  and  fifty  dollars." 

"Gee!"  said  the  Deacon. 
229 


McAllister's  Marriage 

"  An'  we're  to  stay  on  rent-free  's  long  's  we 
want!  " 

"  I  swan !  "  commented  the  pillar  of  the  local 
Baptist  Church.  "  Some  folks  doos  hev  luck !  " 

He  went  over  to  adjust  a  bit  of  harness. 

"  It'll  keep  'em  out  o'  the  poor  farm,"  he 
muttered.  "  But,  by  gosh,  thet  feller  must  be  a 
fool!" 

Over  in  the  daisy  field,  McAllister,  to  the  won 
der  of  the  boy-horse,  pulled  the  despised  cigar 
from  his  pocket,  cut  off  the  end,  and  began  to 
smoke  with  infinite  satisfaction. 

;' What  a  beautiful,  beautiful,  lovely  ring!" 
exclaimed  Abby  joyfully,  examining  with  delight 
the  embossed  paper  of  red  and  gold. 

"  Do  you  remember  about  the  lonely  man  who 
lived  in  the  big  white  house  I  told  you  of?  "  asked 
McAllister. 

"  Of  course  I  do,"  sighed  Abby.  "  Poor  man ! 
he  was  so  good,  and  nobody  loved  him." 

"  Do  you  love  him?  "  asked  McAllister. 

"  Dear  man !  I  love  him,  all  my  heart !  "  cried 
the  child. 

;'  Then  the  man  is  very,  very  happy,"  said  Mc 
Allister  softly. 

Overhead  a  single  black  crow,  wheeling  out  of 
a  stumpy  pine,  circled  to  investigate  this  strange 
love-scene.  Satisfied  of  its  propriety,  he  cawed 

230 


McAllister's  Marriage 

loudly  and  resettled  himself  upon  the  shaking  top 
most  bough. 

McAllister  drew  the  golden  band  from  his  cigar 
and  took  the  folded  paper  from  his  pocket. 

"  Here's  a  love-letter,"  said  he.  "  Your  aunt 
will  read  it  for  you  when  I've  gone." 

Abby  took  it  sadly. 

"  Now  hold  up  your  left  hand,"  said  McAllister, 
smiling.  As  he  slipped  the  paper  circle  over  her 
fourth  finger  he  said  gravely: 

"  '  With  this  ring  I  thee  wed,  and  with  all  my 
worldly  goods  I  thee  endow.'  Give  me  a  kiss." 

She  did  so,  in  wonder. 

"  Now  we  are  married,"  said  he. 


231 


THE  JAILBIRD 


The  Jailbird 


i 

NOW  it  had  come,  he  was  not  quite  sure  that 
he  wanted  it.  For  a  moment  he  longed 
to  go  back  and  join  the  men  marching  away  to  the 
shoe-shop.  Inside  those  walls  he  had  never  had  to 
think  of  what  he  should  eat  or  drink,  or  where 
withal  he  should  be  clothed. 

Over  against  the  gray  parapet  echoed  the  buzz 
ing  of  the  electric  cars,  a  strange  sound  to  ears  ac 
customed  only  to  the  tramp  of  marching  feet,  the 
harsh  voices  of  wardens,  and  the  clang  of  iron 
doors.  Below  him  the  harbor  waves  danced  and 
sparkled,  ferry-boats  rushed  from  shore  to  shore, 
big  ships  moved  slowly  toward  the  distant  islands 
and  the  still  more  distant  sea,  while  near  at  hand 
the  busy  street  flowed  like  a  river,  which  he  was 
compelled  to  swim  but  in  which  he  already  felt  the 
millstone  of  his  past  dragging  him  down. 

His  heart  sank  as  he  asked  himself  what  life 
could  hold  for  him.  How  often,  sitting  on  his 
prison  bed  with  his  head  in  his  hands,  he  had  pict- 

235 


The  Jailbird 

ured  joyously  the  present  moment!  Now  he  felt 
like  a  child  who  has  lost  its  parent's  hand  in  the 
passing  throng. 

There  had  been  a  day,  the  year  before,  when  his 
old  mother's  letter  had  not  come,  and,  instead, 
only  a  line  of  stereotyped  consolation  from  the 
country  pastor  to  the  village  ne'er-do-well.  No 
one  had  seen  him  choke  over  his  bowl  of  soup  and 
bread,  or  noticed  the  tears  that  trickled  down  upon 
the  shoe-leather  in  his  hand.  She  had  been  the 
only  one  who  had  ever  written  to  him.  There  was 
nothing  now  to  take  him  back  to  the  little  cluster 
of  white  cottages  among  the  hills  where  he  was 
born. 

As  he  stood  there  alone  facing  the  world,  he 
yearned  to  throw  himself  once  more  upon  his  cot 
and  weep  against  its  iron  bars — for  three  years  the 
only  arms  outstretched  to  comfort  him. 

II 

The  Judge  concluded  his  charge  with  the  usual, 
"  I  leave  the  case  with  you,  gentlemen,"  and  the 
jury,  collecting  their  miscellaneous  garments,  slow 
ly  retired.  Leary,  the  County  Detective  assigned 
to  "  Part  One,"  pushed  an  indictment  across  the 
desk,  whispering: 

"  Try  him;  he's  a  short  one,"  for  it  was  getting 
236 


The  Jailbird 

late,  and  the  afternoon  sun  was  already  gilding  the 
dingy  cornices  of  the  big  court-room,  now  almost 
deserted  save  by  a  lounger  or  two  half  asleep  on 
the  benches. 

"  People  against  Graham,"  called  Dockbridge, 
the  youthful  deputy  assistant  district  attorney. 

"Fill  the  box!"  shouted  the  clerk.  "James 
Graham  to  the  bar!  "  and  another  dozen  "  good 
men  and  true  "  answered  to  their  names  and  settled 
themselves  comfortably  in  their  places. 

At  the  rear  the  door  from  the  pen  opened  and 
the  prisoner  entered,  escorted  by  an  officer.  He 
walked  stolidly  around  the  room,  passed  through 
the  gate  held  open  for  him,  and  took  his  seat  at 
the  table  reserved  for  the  defendant  and  his  attor 
ney.  There  appeared,  however,  to  be  no  lawyer  to 
represent  him. 

"Have  you  counsel?"  casually  inquired  the 
clerk. 

"  No,"  answered  the  prisoner. 

"  Mr.  Crookshanks,  please  look  after  the  rights 
of  this  defendant,"  directed  the  Judge. 

The  prisoner,  a  thick-set  man  of  medium  height, 
half  rose  from  his  seat,  and,  turning  toward  the 
weazened  little  lawyer,  shook  his  head  rather  im 
patiently.  It  was  obvious  that  they  were  not 
strangers.  After  a  whispered  conversation  Crook- 
shanks  stepped  forward  and  addressed  the  Court. 

237 


The  Jailbird 

'  The  defendant  declines  counsel,  and  stands 
upon  his  constitutional  right  to  defend  himself," 
he  said  apologetically. 

There  was  a  slight  lifting  of  heads  among  the 
jury,  and  a  few  sharp  glances  in  the  direction  of 
the  prisoner,  which  seemed  in  no  wise  to  disconcert 
him. 

"  Very  well,  then;  proceed,"  ordered  the  Court. 

The  prosecutor  rapidly  outlined  his  case — one 
of  simple  "  larceny  from  the  person."  The  People 
would  show  that  the  defendant  had  taken  a  wallet 
from  the  pocket  of  the  complaining  witness.  He 
had  been  caught  in  flagrante  deticto.  There  were 
several  eye-witnesses.  The  case  would  occupy  but 
a  few  moments,  unless,  to  be  sure,  the  prisoner  had 
some  witnesses.  The  young  assistant,  who  seemed 
slightly  nervous  at  the  unusual  prospect  of  conduct 
ing  a  trial  against  a  lawyerless  defendant  (savor 
ing  as  it  did  of  a  hand-to-hand  combat  in  the 
days  of  trial  by  battle),  started  to  comment  upon 
the  novelty  of  the  situation,  gave  it  up,  and  to 
cover  his  retreat  called  his  first  witness. 

Dockbridge  was  very  young  indeed.  He  was 
undergoing  the  process  of  being  "  whipped  into 
shape  "  by  the  Judge,  a  kind  but  unrelenting  ob 
server  of  all  the  technicalities  of  the  criminal 
branch,  and  this  was  one  of  his  first  cases.  He 
could  work  up  a  pretty  fair  argument  in  his  office, 

238 


The  Jailbird 

but  he  now  felt  his  inexperience  and  began  to  wish 
it  was  time  to  adjourn,  or  that  his  senior,  "  Colonel 
Bob,"  the  stout  Nestor  of  Part  One,  whose  long 
practice  made  him  ready  for  any  emergency,  would 
return.  But  "  Colonel  Bob  "  could  have  proved 
an  excellent  alibi  at  that  moment,  and  the  battle 
had  to  be  fought  out  alone. 

The  prisoner,  meanwhile,  was  sitting  calm  but 
vigilant,  pen  in  hand.  His  face,  square  and 
strong,  with  firmly  marked  mouth  and  chin, 
showed  no  sign  of  emotion,  but  under  their  heavy 
brows  his  black  eyes  played  uneasily  between  the 
.Court  and  jury.  Evidently  not  more  than  thirty 
years  of  age,  his  attitude  and  expression  showed 
intelligence  and  alert  capacity. 

"  Go  on,  Mr.  District  Attorney,"  again  admon 
ished  the  Judge;  and  Dockbridge,  pulling  him 
self  together,  commenced  to  examine  the  com 
plainant. 

The  prisoner  was  now  straining  eye  and  ear  to 
catch  every  look  and  word  from  the  witness-stand. 
Hardly  had  the  complainant  opened  his  mouth  be 
fore  the  defendant  had  objected  to  the  answer,  the 
objection  had  been  sustained,  and  the  reply  stricken 
out.  He  continued  to  object  from  time  to  time, 
and  his  points  were  so  well  taken  that  he  dom 
inated  not  only  the  examination  but  the  witness  as 
well,  and  the  jury  presently  found  themselves  lis- 

239 


The  Jailbird 

tening  to  a  cross-examination  as  skilfully  conducted 
as  if  by  a  trained  practitioner. 

But,  although  the  defendant  showed  himself  a 
better  lawyer  than  his  adversary,  it  was  apparent 
that  his  battle  was  a  losing  one.  Point  after  point 
he  contested  stubbornly,  yet  the  case  loomed  clear 
against  him. 

The  People  having  "  rested,"  the  defendant  an 
nounced  that  he  had  no  witnesses,  and  would  go  to 
the  jury  on  the  evidence,  or,  rather  "  failure  of  evi 
dence,"  as  he  put  it,  of  the  prosecution.  It  was 
done  with  great  adroitness,  and  none  of  the  jury 
perceived  that,  by  refusing  to  accept  counsel,  he 
had  made  it  impossible  to  take  the  stand  in  his  own 
behalf,  and  had  thus  escaped  the  necessity  of  sub 
jecting  himself  to  cross-examination  as  to  his  past 
career. 

If  the  spectators  had  expected  a  piteous  appeal 
for  mercy  or  a  burst  of  prison  rhetoric,  they  were 
disappointed.  The  prisoner  summed  his  case  up 
carefully,  arguing  that  there  was  a  reasonable 
doubt  upon  the  evidence  to  which  he  was  entitled; 
begged  the  jury  not  to  condemn  him  merely  be 
cause  he  appeared  before  them  as  one  charged  with 
a  crime;  appealed  to  them  for  justice;  and  at  the 
close,  for  the  first  time  forgetting  the  proprieties 
of  the  situation,  exclaimed,  "  I  did  not  do  it,  gen 
tlemen  !  I  did  not  do  it !  There  is  an  absolute 

240 


The  Jailbird 

failure  of  proof !  You  cannot  find  that  I  took  the 
purse  from  the  old  gentleman  on  such  evidence! 
It  is  all  a  lie!" 

It  was  his  one  false  touch.  To  raise  the  issue 
of  veracity  is  usually  a  mistake  on  the  part  of  a 
defendant,  and  the  defiant  look  in  Graham's  eyes 
might  well  have  suggested  conscious  guilt. 

As  he  paused  for  a  moment  after  this  concluding 
sentence,  an  Italian  band  came  marching  down 
Centre  Street  playing  the  dead  march.  Some  patri 
ot  was  being  borne  to  his  last  sleep  in  an  alien  land. 
Outside  the  court-house  it  paused  for  a  moment 
with  one  melancholy  crash  of  funeral  chords.  It 
seemed  a  vibrant  echo  of  the  discord  of  his  own 
fruitless  life.  At  the  same  moment  a  ray  from  the 
red  sun  setting  over  the  Tombs  fell  upon  the  pris 
oner's  face. 

Dockbridge  summed  the  case  up  in  the  stock 
fashion,  and  then  for  half  an  hour  the  Judge 
addressed  the  jury  in  a  calm  and  dispassionate 
analysis  of  the  evidence,  not  hesitating  to  compare 
the  abilities  of  the  prosecutor  and  prisoner  to  the 
disadvantage  of  the  former,  saying  in  this  respect : 
"  Neither  must  you  be  influenced  by  any  feeling  of 
admiration  at  the  capacity  shown  by  this  defendant 
to  conduct  his  own  case.  If  he  has  appeared  more 
than  a  match  for  the  prosecution,  it  must  not  affect 
the  weight  which  you  give  to  the  evidence  against 

241 


him." 


The  Jailbird 


"  More  than  a  match  for  the  prosecution !  " 
That  had  been  rather  rough,  to  be  sure,  and  the 
fifth  juror  had  looked  at  Dockbridge  and  grinned. 

The  jury  filed  out,  the  prisoner  was  led  back  to 
the  pen,  the  Judge  vanished  into  his  chambers,  and 
the  prosecutor,  his  feet  on  the  counsel  table,  lit  a 
cigar  and  indulged  in  retrospection.  The  benches 
were  deserted.  There  was  no  one  but  himself  left 
in  the  court-room.  Usually,  when  a  jury  retired, 
there  was  some  mother  or  wife  or  daughter,  with 
her  handkerchief  to  her  eyes,  waiting  for  them  to 
come  back,  but  this  fellow  had  none  such.  He  had 
fought  alone.  Well,  damn  him,  he  deserved  to! 
But  who  the  deuce  was  he?  It  had  been  clever  on 
his  part  not  to  take  the  stand.  Strange  to  be  trying 
a  man  you  had  never  seen  before — of  whom  you 
knew  nothing,  who  had  merely  side-stepped  into 
your  life  and  would  soon  back  out  of  it.  "  Poor 
devil !  "  thought  the  deputy  as  he  lit  another  Per- 
fecto. 

Now  the  jury,  as  juries  sometimes  do,  wanted  to 
talk  and  had  a  consuming  desire  to  smoke,  so  they 
both  smoked  and  talked;  and  when  O'Reilly  came 
to  turn  on  the  lights  in  the  court-room,  they  were 
still  out,  and  Dockbridge  had  fallen  fast  asleep. 


242 


The  Jailbird 


III 

At  half  past  ten  o'clock  the  big  court-room  still 
remained  almost  empty.  Inside  the  rail  the  clerk 
and  the  stenographer,  having  returned  from  a 
short  visit  to  Tom  Foley's  saloon  across  the  way, 
were  languidly  discussing  the  condition  of  the 
stock-market.  A  nebulous  illumination  in  the  vast- 
ness  above  only  served  to  increase  the  shadowy 
dimness  of  the  room.  The  talk  of  the  pair  made  a 
scarcely  audible  whisper  in  the  great  silence.  Out 
side,  an  electric  car  could  be  heard  at  intervals; 
within,  only  the  slam  of  iron  doors,  subdued  by  dis 
tance,  echoed  through  the  corridors. 

Dockbridge  had  awakened,  and,  lounging  be 
fore  his  table,  was  trying  to  get  up  a  case  for  the 
morrow.  The  Judge  had  gone  home  for  dinner. 
One  by  one  the  court  attendants  had  strayed  away, 
coming  back  to  push  open  the  heavy  door,  and, 
after  a  furtive  glance  at  the  empty  bench,  as 
silently  to  depart. 

Below  in  the  stifling  pen,  alone  behind  the  bars, 
James  Graham  sat  staring  vacantly  at  the  stained 
cement  floor.  A  savage  rage  surged  through  him. 
Curse  them !  That  infernal  Judge  had  not  given 
him  half  a  chance.  Once  more  he  recalled  that 

243 


The  Jailbird 

day  when  he  had  stepped  out  into  the  sunlight  a 
free  man.  Again  he  saw  his  iron  bed,  his  cobbling 
bench,  his  coarse  food,  his  hated  stripes.  He 
choked  at  the  thought  of  them.  Only  two  months 
before  he  had  been  at  liberty.  Think  of  it !  Good 
clothes,  good  food,  pleasure!  God,  what  a  fool! 
A  dull  pain  worked  through  his  body;  he  remem 
bered  that  he  had  not  eaten  since  seven  that 
morning. 

Outside  in  the  corridor  the  keeper  was  smoking 
a  cigar.  The  fumes  of  it  drifted  in  and  mingled 
with  the  stench  of  the  pen.  It  almost  nauseated 
him.  He  leaned  his  head  against  the  wall  and 
closed  his  eyes.  The  act  brought  rushing  back  the 
memories  of  his  childhood,  and  of  how,  every 
night,  he  would  lay  his  head  upon  his  mother's 
knee  and  say,  "  Have  I  been  a  good  boy  to-day?  " 
A  sob  shook  him,  and  he  pressed  closer  against  the 
wall. 

A  sound  of  moving  feet  roused  him  suddenly. 
A  door  swung  open,  shut  again,  and  voices  came 
with  a  draught  of  air  from  the  corridor. 

The  keeper  waiting  outside  stirred  and  stood 
up,  looking  regretfully  at  his  cigar. 

"  Get  up  there,  you !  " 

The  prisoner  obeyed  perfunctorily,  and  fol 
lowed  the  officer  heavily  up  the  stairs  and  down  the 
dirty  passage  to  the  court-room.  Outside,  he 

244 


The  Jailbird 

shrank  from  entering.  Those  eyes — those  eyes! 
That  hard,  pitiless  Judge!  But  he  was  pushed 
roughly  forward.  Then  his  old  pugnacity  re 
turned  ;  he  set  his  teeth,  and  entered. 

He  trudged  around  the  room  and  stopped  at  the 
bar  before  the  clerk.  On  his  right  sat  the  twelve 
silent  men.  On  the  bench  the  white-haired  Judge 
was  gazing  at  him  with  sad  but  penetrating  eyes. 

It  was  different  from  the  mellow  glow  of  the 
afternoon.  They  were  all  so  still — like  ghosts — 
and  all  around,  all  about  him !  He  wanted  to 
shout  out  at  them,  "Speak!  for  God's  sake, 
speak !  "  But  something  stifled  him.  The  over 
whelming  power  of  the  law  held  him  speechless. 

The  clerk  rose  without  looking  at  the  prisoner. 

"  Gentlemen  of  the  jury,  have  you  agreed  upon 
a  verdict?  " 

"  We  have,"  answered  the  foreman,  rising  and 
standing  with  his  eyes  upon  the  floor. 

"  How  say  you,  do  you  find  the  defendant 
guilty,  or  not  guilty?  " 

"  Guilty  of  grand  larceny  in  the  first  degree." 

The  prisoner  involuntarily  pressed  his  hand  to 
his  heart.  He  had  weathered  that  blast  before  and 
could  do  so  again.  Dockbridge  gave  him  a  look 
full  of  pity.  Graham  hated  him  for  it.  That 
child!  That  snivelling  little  fool!  He  wanted 
none  of  his  sympathy!  His  breath  came  faster. 

245 


The  Jailbird 

Must  they  all  look  at  him  ?  Was  that  a  part  of  his 
trial — to  be  stared  down?  He  glared  back  at 
them.  The  room  swam,  and  he  saw  only  the  stern 
face  on  the  bench  above. 

"Name?"  broke  in  the  harsh  voice  of  the 
clerk. 

"  James  Graham." 

"Age?" 

"  Twenty-eight." 

"  Married,  or  unmarried?  "  "  Temperate?  " 
came  the  pitiless  questions,  all  answered  in  a  mono 
tone. 

"  Ever  convicted  before?  " 

"  No,"  said  the  prisoner  in  a  low  voice,  but  the 
word  sounded  to  him  like  a  roaring  torrent.  Then 
came  once  more  that  awful  silence.  The  dread  eye 
of  the  Judge  seared  his  soul. 

"  Graham,  is  that  the  truth?  " 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Are  you  quite  sure?  " 

That  merciless  question !  What  had  that  to  do 
with  it?  Why  should  he  have  to  tell  them?  That 
was  not  his  crime.  He  was  ready  to  suffer  for 
what  he  had  done,  but  not  for  the  past;  that  was 
not  fair — he  had  paid  for  that.  He  must  defend 
himself. 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Swear  him,"  said  the  Judge. 
246 


The  Jailbird 

The  officer  took  up  the  soiled  Bible  and  started 
to  place  it  in  Graham's  hand.  But  the  hand 
dropped  from  it. 

"  No,  no,  I  can't!  "  he  faltered;  "  I  can't— I- 
I — It  is  no  use,"  he  added  huskily. 

"  When  were  you  convicted?  " 

"  I  served  six  months  for  petty  larceny  in  the 
penitentiary  six  years  ago." 

"Is  that  all?" 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Are  you  sure?  " 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Quite  sure?    Think  again  I" 

"  Yes,  sir,"  almost  inaudibly. 

"  Swear  him." 

Again  the  book  was  forced  toward  the  unwilling 
hand,  and  again  it  was  refused. 

"  Have  you  no  pity — no  mercy?  "  his  dark  eyes 
seemed  to  say.  Then  they  gave  way  to  a  look  of 
utter  hopelessness. 

"  I  served  three  years  in  Charlestown  for  lar 
ceny,  and  was  discharged  two  months  ago." 

"Is  that  all?" 

"  O,  God!  Isn't  that  enough?"  suddenly 
groaned  the  prisoner.  "  No,  no;  it  isn't  all!  It's 
always  been  the  same  old  story !  Concord,  Joliet, 
Elmira,  Springfield,  Sing  Sing,  Charlestown — yes, 
six  times.  Twelve  years.  .  .  .  I'm  a  jail- 

247 


The  Jailbird 

bird."  He  laughed  harshly  and  rested  wearily 
against  the  wooden  bar. 

"  Have  you  anything  to  say  why  judgment 
should  not  be  pronounced  against  you  ?  " 

"Your  Honor,  will  you  hear  me?"  Graham 
choked  back  a  dry  sob. 

The  Judge  slightly  inclined  his  head. 

'  Yes.  I'm  a  jailbird,"  uttered  the  prisoner 
rapidly.  "  I'm  only  out  two  months."  There  was 
no  defiance  in  his  voice  now,  and  his  eyes  searched 
the  face  of  the  Judge,  seeking  for  mercy.  "  I  had 
a  good  home — no  matter  where — and  a  good 
father  and  mother.  My  father  died  and  didn't 
leave  anything,  and  I  had  to  work  while  my 
mother  kept  house.  I  worked  on  the  farm,  winter 
and  summer,  summer  and  winter,  early  and  late. 
I  got  sick  of  it.  I  quit  the  farm  and  went  to  the 
city.  I  worked  hard  and  did  well.  I  learned 
shorthand,  and  finally  got  a  job  as  a  court  sten 
ographer.  That's  how  I  know  about  the  rules  of 
evidence.  Then  I  got  started  wrong,  and  by  and 
by  I  took  a  fifty-dollar  note  and  another  fellow 
was  sent  up  for  it.  After  that  I  didn't  care.  I  had 
a  good  time — of  its  kind.  It  was  better  than  a 
dog's  life  on  the  farm,  anyway.  By  and  by  I  got 
caught,  and  then  it  was  no  use.  Each  time  I  got  out 
I  swore  I'd  lead  an  honest  life.  But  I  couldn't.  A 
convict  might  as  well  try  to  eat  stones  as  to  find  a 

248 


The  Jailbird 

job.  But  when  I  got  free  this  time  I  made  up  my 
mind  to  starve  rather  than  get  back  again.  I  meant 
it,  too.  I  tried  hard.  It  was  no  use  in  Boston 
— they're  too  respectable.  All  a  convict  can  do 
there  is  to  get  a  two  weeks'  job  sawing  wood.  At 
the  end  of  that  time  he's  supposed  to  be  able  to 
take  care  of  himself.  I  had  to  give  it  up  and  come 
to  New  York. 

"  It  was  August,  and  I  went  the  rounds  of  the 
offices  for  three  weeks,  looking  for  work.  No  one 
wanted  a  stenographer,  and  there  was  nothing  else 
to  do  that  I  could  find.  Once  I  thought  I  had 
something  on  the  water-front,  but  the  man 
changed  his  mind.  A  woman  told  me  to  go  to  Dr. 
Westminster,  so  I  went.  He  was  kind  enough, 
said  he  was  very  busy,  but  would  do  all  he  could 
for  me;  that  there  was  a  special  society  for  just 
such  cases,  and  he  would  give  me  a  card.  I 
thanked  him,  and  took  the  card  and  went  to  the  so 
ciety.  The  young  woman  there  gave  me  two  soup 
tickets,  and  said  she  would  do  all  she  could  for  me. 
Next  day  she  reported  that  there  was  nothing  do 
ing  just  then,  but  if  I  could  come  back  in  about  a 
month  they  could  probably  do  better.  Then  she 
gave  me  another  soup  ticket.  I  drank  the  soup 
and  then  I  went  back  to  Dr.  Westminster.  He 
was  rather  annoyed  at  seeing  me  again,  and  said 
that  he  had  done  all  that  he  could,  but  would  bear 

249 


The  Jailbird 

me  in  mind;  meantime,  unless  I  heard  from  him, 
it  would  be  no  use  to  call  again.  I'd  lived  on  soup 
for  two  days. 

"  I  got  a  meal  by  begging  on  the  avenue.  Then 
another  woman  told  me  to  go  to  Dr.  Emberdays, 
and  I  went  to  him.  By  this  time  I  must  have  been 
looking  pretty  tough.  He  said  that  he  would  do 
what  he  could,  and  that  there  was  a  society  to 
which  he  would  give  me  a  line.  They  asked  me  a 
devil  of  a  lot  of  questions,  and  gave  me  a  flannel 
undershirt.  It  made  me  sick!  An  undershirt  in 
August,  when  I  wanted  bread  and  human  sym 
pathy  ! 

"  It  was  no  use.  I  gave  up  parsons  and  tried 
the  river-front  again.  I  didn't  get  over  one  meal 
a  day,  and  my  head  ached  all  the  time.  I  heard  of 
a  job  at  One  Hundred  and  Sixty-ninth  Street,  car 
rying  lumber.  I  got  a  nickel  for  holding  a  horse, 
and  went  up.  It  was  a  gang  of  niggers.  They  got 
a  dollar  a  day.  The  boss  was  a  nigger,  too,  and 
didn't  want  cheap  white  trash.  I  almost  went 
down  on  my  knees  to  him,  and  finally  he  said  I 
might  come  the  next  day.  I  slept  in  a  field  under 
a  tree  without  anything  to  eat  that  night,  and 
started  in  at  seven  the  next  morning.  The  ther 
mometer  went  up  to  ninety-six,  and  we  worked 
without  stopping.  I  had  to  lug  one  end  of  a  big 
stick,  with  a  nigger  under  the  other  end,  one  hun- 

250 


The  Jailbird 

dred  yards,  then  go  back  and  get  another.  I  got 
so  I  didn't  know  what  I  was  doing.  At  eleven 
o'clock  I  fainted,  and  then  I  was  sick,  dreadfully 
sick.  At  three  the  boss  nigger  kicked  me  and  said 
I  had  to  stop  faking  or  I  wouldn't  get  paid,  and  so 
I  got  up  and  lugged  until  six.  But  I  was  so  ill  I 
knew  it  was  no  use.  I  couldn't  do  that  kind  of 
work. 

"  It  was  an  awfully  hot  night.  I  got  off  the 
'  L  '  at  Thirty-fourth  Street  and  walked  through  to 
the  avenue.  When  I  got  to  the  Waldorf  I  stopped 
and  looked  in  the  windows.  There  were  men  and 
women  in  there,  and  flowers  and  everything  to  eat 
—just  what  I  could  eat  if  I  chose.  And  I  had  been 
working  with  niggers,  Judge,  all  day  long  until  I 
fainted,  heaving  timber.  I  just  stood  and  waited, 
and  when  a  chance  came  to  snatch  a  roll  of  bills  I 
took  it.  They  couldn't  catch  me.  I  was  good  for 
ten  of  'em,  Judge. 

"  After  that  it  was  easy.  I  met  some  of  the 
fellows  that  had  served  time  with  me  and  got  back 
into  the  old  life.  Judge,  it's  no  use.  I  don't  blame 
you  for  what  you  are  going  to  do,  nor  I  don't 
blame  the  jury.  Anyone  could  see  through  the 
bluff  I  put  up.  I'm  guilty.  I'm  a  jailbird,  I  say. 
I'm  done.  Only  I've  had  no  chance,  Judge.  Give 
me  another;  let  me  go  back  to  the  farm.  I'll  go,  I 
swear  I  will !  It'll  kill  me  to  go  to  prison.  I'm  a 

251 


The  Jailbird 

human  being.  God  meant  me  to  live  out  of  doors, 
and  I've  spent  half  of  my  life  inside  stone  walls. 
Let  me  go  back  to  the  country.  I'll  go,  Judge. 
I'm  a  human  being.  Give  me  one  more  chance." 

There  was  no  sound  when  the  prisoner  stopped 
speaking.  The  judge  did  not  reply  for  a  full  min 
ute.  His  face  wore  its  habitual  look  of  sadness. 
Then  he  spoke  in  a  very  low  tone,  but  one  which 
was  distinctly  audible  in  the  silence  of  the  court 
room. 

"  Graham,  you  have  read  your  own  sentence. 
You  have  confessed  that  you  cannot  lead  an  honest 
life.  Your  fault  is  that  you  will  not  work.  There 
are  a  thousand  farms  within  a  hundred  miles,  where 
you  could  earn  a  livelihood  for  the  asking.  Your 
intelligence  is  of  a  high  order.  By  ordinary  appli 
cation  you  could  have  risen  far  above  your  fellows. 
You  are  a  dangerous  criminal — all  the  more  dan 
gerous  for  your  ability.  You  almost  outwitted  the 
jury,  and  conducted  your  own  case  more  ably  than 
nine  out  of  ten  lawyers  would  have  done.  You 
have  ruined  your  own  life,  and  cast  away  a  pearl  of 
price.  You  have  my  pity,  but  I  cannot  allow  it  to 
affect  my  duty.  Graham,  I  sentence  you  to  State 
Prison  for  ten  years." 

The  prisoner  shivered,  and  covered  his  face  with 
his  hands.  Then  the  officer  clapped  him  on  the 
shoulder  and  pushed  him  toward  the  door. 

252 


The  Jailbird 


"  Gentlemen,  you  are  excused."  The  Judge 
bowed  to  the  jury. 

"  Hear  ye!  Hear  ye!  "  bawled  the  attendant: 
"  all  persons  having  business  with  Part  One  of  the 
General  Sessions  of  the  Peace,  held  in  and  for  the 
County  of  New  York,  may  now  depart.  This 
Court  stands  adjourned  until  to-morrow  morning 
at  half  past  ten  o'clock." 


253 


IN  THE  COURSE  OF  JUSTICE 


In  the  Course  of  Justice 

"The  Law  is  a  sort  of  hocuspocus  science  that  smiles  in 
yer  face  while  it  picks  yer  pocket ;  and  the  glorious  uncertainty 
of  it  is  of  mair  use  to  the  professors  than  the  justice  of  it. ' ' 


A  TRIM,  neatly  dressed  young  man,  holding 
in  one  of  his  carefully  gloved  hands  a  bam 
boo  cane,  sat  upon  a  bench  in  Union  Square  one 
brilliant  October  morning  some  ten  years  ago. 
All  about  him  swarms  of  excited  sparrows  chat 
tered  and  fought  among  the  yellow  leaves.  A  last 
night's  carnation  languished  in  his  button-hole,  and 
his  smoothly  shaven  lantern-jaw  and  high  cheek 
bones  suggested  the  type  of  upper  Broadway  and 
the  Tenderloin.  In  spite  of  this,  the  general  effect 
was  not  unpleasing,  especially  as  his  sparse  curly 
hair,  just  turning  gray  at  the  temples,  disclosed  a 
forehead  suggestive  of  more  than  usual  intelli 
gence  in  a  face  otherwise  ordinary.  A  shadowy, 
inscrutable  smile  from  time  to  time  played  upon 
his  features,  at  one  moment  making  them  seem 
good-naturedly  sympathetic,  at  another,  sinister. 

257 


The  Course  of  Justice 

The  casual  observer  would  have  classed  him  as  a 
student  or  actor.  He  was  both,  and  more. 

From  a  large  jewelry  store  across  the  way  pres 
ently  emerged  a  diminutive  messenger-boy  carry 
ing  a  small,  square  bundle,  and  turned  into  Broad 
way.  The  man  on  the  bench,  known  to  his  friends 
as  "  Supple  Jim,"  rose  unobtrusively  to  his  feet. 
The  apostle  of  Hermes  stopped  to  buy  a  cent's 
worth  of  mucilaginous  candy  from  the  Italian  on 
the  corner,  and  then,  whistling  loudly,  dawdled 
upon  his  way.  The  man  followed,  manoeuvring 
for  position,  while  the  boy,  now  in  the  chewing 
stage  and  struggling  violently,  lingered  to  inspect  a 
mechanical  toy.  The  supple  one  accomplished  a 
flank  movement,  approached,  touched  him  on  the 
shoulder,  and  displayed  a  silver  badge  beneath  his 
coat. 

"  Young  man,  I'm  from  the  Central  Office,  and 
need  your  help.  About  a  block  from  here  a  feller 
will  come  runnin'  after  you  and  say  they've  given 
you  the  wrong  bundle — see?  He'll  hand  you  an 
other,  and  tell  you  to  give  him  the  one  you've  got. 
He's  a  crook — *  Paddy  the  Sneak  ' — old  game ! 
see?" 

The  boy  was  all  attention,  his  jaws  motionless. 

"  Yep !  "  he  replied,  his  eyes  glistening  de 
lightedly. 

"  Well.  I'll  be  right  behind  you ;  and  when  he 
258 


The  Course  of  Justice 

throws  the  game  into  you,  just  pretend  you  fall  to 
it  an'  hand  him  your  box.  Then  I'll  make  the 
collar.  Are  you  on?  " 

"  Say,  that's  easy !  "  grinned  the  boy. 

"  Show  us  what  you're  good  for,  then,  and  I'll 
have  the  Inspector  send  you  some  passes  for  the 
theayter." 

The  boy  started  on  in  business-like  fashion.  As 
his  interlocutor  had  predicted,  a  hatless  "  feller  " 
overtook  him,  breathless,  and  entered  into  voluble 
explanation.  The  messenger  exchanged  bundles, 
and  then,  eyes  front,  continued  up  the  street  until 
the  detective  should  pounce  upon  his  victim.  For 
some  strange  reason  no  such  event  took  place.  At 
the  end  of  the  block  he  cast  a  furtive  glance  be 
hind  him.  Both  Paddy  and  the  Central  Office  man 
had  vanished,  to  dispose  in  a  Bowery  pawnshop  of 
the  fruits  of  their  short  hour  of  toil,  dividing 
between  them  one  hundred  and  sixty  dollars  as  the 
equivalent  of  the  diamond  stud  which  the  box  had 
contained. 

Half  an  hour  later,  drawn  by  a  fascination 
which  he  found  irresistible,  the  hero  of  this  legal 
memoir  took  a  car  to  the  Criminal  Courts  Build 
ing,  and  made  his  way  to  the  General  Sessions. 

"  Forgot  my  subpoena,  Cap'n.  I'm  a  witness. 
Just  let  me  in,  please !  "  he  said,  with  a  smile  of 
easy  good-nature. 

259 


The   Course  of  Justice 

Old  Flaherty,  the  superannuated  door-keeper, 
known  as  The  Eagle,  eyed  the  young  man  suspi 
ciously  for  a  moment,  and  then,  grumbling,  al 
lowed  him  to  enter  the  court-room.  The  thief  who 
had  so  easily  secured  admittance,  fought  his  way 
persistently  through  the  throng,  elbowed  by  the 
gruff  officer  at  the  inner  gate,  and  selecting  the  best 
seat  on  the  front  bench,  compelled  its  earlier  occu 
pants  to  make  room  for  him  with  a  calm  assurance 
and  matter-of-course  superiority  which  they  had 
not  the  courage  to  oppose. 

Supple  Jim  listened  with  interest  to  the  call  of 
the  calendar.  A  few  lawyers,  with  their  witnesses,' 
whose  cases  had  gone  over  until  the  morrow,  strug 
gled  out  through  the  crush  at  the  door,  with  no 
perceptible  diminution  in  the  throng  within.  The 
clerk  prepared  to  call  the  roll  of  the  jury. 

'  Trial  jurors  in  the  case  of  '  The  People 
against  Richard  Monohan,'  please  answer  to  your 
names." 

The  twelve,  in  varying  keys,  had  all  replied;  the 
trial  was  "  on  "  again,  having  been  interrupted, 
evidently,  by  the  adjournment  of  the  afternoon  be 
fore.  A  venerable  complainant  now  resumed  the 
story  of  how  two  young  men,  whose  acquaintance 
he  had  made  in  a  saloon  the  previous  Sunday  even 
ing,  had  followed  him  into  the  street,  assaulted 
him  on  his  way  home  and  robbed  him  of  his  ring. 

260 


The  Course  of  Justice 

He  positively  identified  the  prisoner  as  the  one  who 
had  wrenched  it  from  his  finger. 

Next,  an  officer  testified  to  having  arrested  the 
defendant  upon  the  old  gentleman's  description, 
and  to  having  found  in  his  pocket  a  pawn-ticket 
calling  for  the  ring  in  question. 

The  case,  in  the  vernacular  of  the  courts,  was 
"  dead  open  and  shut." 

The  People  "  rested,"  and  the  defendant,  a  mis 
erable  specimen  of  those  wretched  beings  that  con 
stitute  the  penumbra  of  crime,  took  the  stand.  His 
defence  was  absurd.  He  denied  ever  before  hav 
ing  seen  his  accuser,  had  not  been  in  the  saloon,  had 
not  taken  the  ring,  had  not  pawned  it,  had  bought 
the  ticket  from  a  man  on  the  corner  who,  he  re 
membered,  had  told  him  he  was  getting  a  bargain 
at  three  dollars.  He  could  not  describe  this 
"  man,"  or  account  for  his  own  whereabouts  on 
the  evening  in  question.  He  had  been  drunk  at 
the  time.  It  was  a  story  as  old  as  theft  itself. 

The  prosecutor  winked  at  the  jury,  and  the 
Judge  once  more  summoned  the  apostolic-looking 
complainant  to  the  chair. 

"  You  realize,  sir,  the  terrible  consequences  to 
this  young  man  should  you  be  mistaken  ?  Are  you 
quite  sure  that  he  is  one  of  the  persons  who  robbed 
you?  "  he  inquired  with  becoming  gravity. 

The  witness  raised  himself  by  his  cane,  and  step- 
261 


The  Course  of  Justice 

ping  down  to  where  the  prisoner  sat,  gazed  search- 
ingly  into  his  stolid  face. 

"  God  knows,"  said  he,  "  I  wouldn't  harm  a  hair 
of  his  head.  But  by  all  that's  holy,  I  swear  he's 
the  man  who  took  my  ring." 

A  wave  of  interest  passed  over  the  assembled  at 
torneys.  That  was  business  for  you !  No  use  to 
cross-examine  an  old  fellow  like  him.  There  was 
a  great  nodding  of  heads  and  shuffling  of  feet. 

u  Do  you  think  you  could  identify  your  other 
assailant  if  you  should  see  him?"  continued  the 
judge. 

"  I'm  sure  of  it,"  calmly  replied  the  witness. 

"  Very  well,  sir,"  continued  his  Honor;  "  see  if 
you  can  do  so." 

Half  of  the  audience  moved  uneasily,  and 
glanced  longingly  toward  the  closed  means  of 
exit.  A  woman  tittered  hysterically.  The  witness 
slowly  descended,  and,  escorted  by  a  policeman,  be 
gan  his  inspection,  scrutinizing  each  face  with  care. 
Quietly  he  moved  along  the  first  bench,  and  then, 
gently  shaking  his  head,  along  the  second.  The 
interest  became  breathless.  A  sigh  of  relief  rip 
pled  along  the  settees  after  him.  The  only  specta 
tor  unmoved  by  what  was  taking  place  was  Supple 
Jim,  who  smiled  genially  at  the  old  gentleman  as 
the  latter  glanced  at  him  and  passed  on.  Four 
rows — five  rows — six  rows — seven  rows.  At  last 

262 


The  Course  of  Justice 

there  was  but  one  bench  left,  and  the  excitement 
reached  the  point  of  ebullition.  Would  he  find 
him?  Were  they  going  to  be  disappointed  after 
all?  Only  half  a  bench  left !  Only  two  men  left ! 
Ah!  what  was  that?  People  shoved  one  another 
in  the  back,  craning  their  heads  to  see  what  was 
doing  in  the  distant  corner  where  the  complainant 
stood.  Suddenly  the  searcher  faced  the  Judge, 
and,  pointing  to  the  last  occupant  of  the  rear  set 
tee,  announced  with  conviction : 

"  .Your  Honor,  this  is  the  other  man !  " 

A  murmur  travelled  rapidly  around  the  court 
room.  Honors  were  even  between  a  Judge  who 
could  thus  unerringly  divine  the  presence  of  a 
malefactor  and  a  patriarch  who,  out  of  so  great  a 
multitude,  was  able  unhesitatingly  to  pick  out  a 
midnight  assailant. 

The  "  criminal "  attorneys  whispered  among 
themselves:  "Well,  say!  what  do  you  think  of 
that !  All  right,  eh?  Well,  I  guess !  Well,  say !  " 

This  picturesque  digression  concluded,  interest 
again  centred  in  the  defendant,  of  whose  ultimate 
conviction  there  could  no  longer  be  any  doubt. 

Not  that  the  identification  of  the  accomplice  had 
any  real  significance,  since  the  man  so  ostenta 
tiously  picked  out  by  the  patriarch  in  court  had 
been  caught  red-handed  at  the  time  of  the  robbery 
within  a  block  of  the  saloon,  was  already  under  in- 

263 


The  Course  of  Justice 

dictment  as  a  co-defendant,  and  being  out  on  bail 
had  merely  been  brought  in  under  a  bench  war 
rant  and  placed  among  the  spectators.  But  the 
performance  had  a  distinct  dramatic  value,  and  the 
jury  could  not  be  blamed  for  making  the  natural 
deduction  that  if  the  complainant  was  right  as  re 
gards  the  one,  ipso  facto  he  must  be  as  to  the  other. 
That  the  complainant  had  already  identified  him 
at  the  police-station  and  at  the  Tombs  seemed  a 
matter  of  small  importance.  The  point  was,  ap 
parently,  that  the  old  fellow  had  a  good  memory, 
and  one  upon  which  the  jury  could  safely  rely. 

The  Judge  charged  the  law,  and  the  jury  re 
tired,  returning  almost  immediately  with  a  verdict 
of  "  Guilty  of  robbery  in  the  first  degree." 

The  prisoner  at  the  bar  swayed  for  an  instant, 
steadied  himself,  and  stood  clinging  to  the  rail, 
while  his  counsel  made  the  usual  motions  for  a  new 
trial  and  in  arrest  of  judgment. 

"  Clear  the  box!  Clear  the  box!  "  shouted  the 
clerk,  and  the  jury,  their  duty  comfortably  dis 
charged,  filed  slowly  out. 

The  court-room  rapidly  emptied  itself  into  the 
corridors.  Supple  Jim  waited  on  the  steps  of  the 
building  until  a  young  woman,  carrying  a  baby, 
came  wearily  out,  and,  as  she  passed,  thrust  a  roll 
of  bills  into  her  hand. 

"  Your  feller's  been  done  dirt!  "  he  growled. 
264 


The  Course  of  Justice 

"  Take  that,  and  put  it  out  of  sight.  Don't  give  it 
to  any  lawyer,  now!  You'll  need  it  yourself." 
Then  he  sprang  lightly  upon  the  rear  platform  of 
a  surface  car  as  it  whizzed  by,  and  vanished  from 
her  astonished  gaze. 

Thus  was  an  innocent  man  convicted,  while 
crime  triumphant  played  the  part  of  benefactor. 

II 

The  next  morning  Supple  Jim,  sitting  in  the 
warm  sunshine  in  the  bay-window  of  his  favorite 
restaurant,  lazily  finished  a  hearty  breakfast  oir 
ham  and  eggs,  glancing  casually,  meanwhile,  at  the 
morning  paper  which  lay  open  before  him.  At 
a  respectful  distance  his  attendant  awaited  the 
moment  when  this  important  guest  should  snap 
his  fingers,  demand  his  damage,  and  call  for  a 
Carolina  Perfecto.  These  would  be  forthcoming 
with  alacrity,  for  Mr.  James  Hawkins  was  more 
of  an  autocrat  on  Fourteenth  Street  than  a  Pitts- 
burg  oil  magnate  at  the  Waldorf.  Just  now  the 
Supple  James  was  reading  with  keen  enjoyment 
how,  the  day  before,  a  quick-witted  old  gentleman 
had  brought  a  malefactor  to  justice.  At  one  of  the 
paragraphs  he  broke  into  a  gentle  laugh,  perusing 
it  again  and  again,  apparently  with  intense  enjoy 
ment. 

Had  ever  such  a  farce  been  enacted  in  the  course 
265 


The  Course  of  Justice 

of  justice !  He  tossed  away  the  paper  and  swore 
softly.  Of  course,  the  only  thing  that  had  ren 
dered  such  a  situation  possible  at  all  was  the  fact 
that  the  aged  Farlan  was  a  superlative  old  ass. 
To  hear  him  tell  his  yarn  on  the  stand,  you  would 
have  thought  that  it  gave  him  positive  pain  to  tes 
tify  against  a  fellow  being.  Did  you  ever  see  such 
white  hair  and  such  a  big  white  beard?  Why,  he 
looked  like  Dowie  or  Moses,  or  some  of  those  fel 
lows.  When  Jim  had  tripped  him  up  and  slipped 
off  the  ring,  the  old  chap  had  already  swallowed 
half  a  dozen  "  County  Antrims,"  and  wasn't  in  a 
condition  to  remember  anything  or  anybody.  The 
idea  of  his  going  so  piously  into  court  and  swearing 
the  thing  on  to  Monohan ;  it  gave  you  the  creeps ! 
A  fellow  might  go  to  "  the  chair  "  as  easy  as  not, 
in  just  the  same  way.  Of  course,  Jim  had  not  in 
tended  to  get  the  young  greenhorn  into  any  trouble 
when  he  had  sold  him  the  pawn-ticket  He  had 
been  just  an  easy  mark.  And  when  the  police  had 
arrested  him  and  found  the  ticket  in  his  pocket, 
there  was  not  any  call  for  Jim  to  set  them  straight. 
That  was  just  Monohan's  luck,  curse  him!  Let 
him  look  out  for  himself. 

But  to  see  the  patriarch  carefully  forging  the 
shackles  upon  the  wrong  man,  had  filled  Jim  with 
a  wondering  and  ecstatic  bewilderment.  The  stars 
in  their  courses  had  seemed  warring  in  his  behalf. 

266 


The  Course  of  Justice 

Think  of  it  I  That  fellow  Monohan  could  get 
twenty  years !  It  made  him  mad,  this  infernal  con 
spiracy,  as  it  seemed  to  him,  between  judges  and 
prosecutors.  It  mattered  little,  apparently, 
whether  they  got  the  right  man  or  not,  so  long  as 
they  got  someone !  What  business  had  they  to  go 
and  convict  a  fellow  who  was  innocent,  and  put 
him,  "  Jim,"  the  cleverest  "  gun  "  in  the  profes 
sion,  in  such  a  position?  He  wondered  if  folks 
in  other  lines  of  business  had  so  many  problems  to 
face.  The  stupidity  of  witnesses  and  the  trickery 
of  lawyers  was  almost  beyond  belief.  It  was  a 
perennial  contest,  not  only  of  wit  against  wit, 
strategy  against  strategy,  but,  worst  of  all,  of  wit 
against  impenetrable  dulness.  Why,  if  people 
were  going  to  be  so  careless  about  swearing 
a  man's  liberty  away,  it  was  time  to  "  get  on  the 
level."  You  might  be  nailed  any  time  by  mistake, 
and  then  your  record  would  make  any  defence  im 
possible.  You  had  the  right  to  demand  common 
honesty,  or,  at  least,  intelligence,  on  the  part  of  the 
prosecution. 

But  the  main  question  was,  What  was  going  to 
become  of  Monohan?  Well,  the  boy  was  con 
victed,  and  that  was  the  end  of  it.  It  was  quite 
clear  to  Jim  that,  had  he  been  victimized  in  the 
same  way,  no  one  would  have  bothered  about  it 
at  all.  It  was  simply  the  fortune  of  war. 

267 


The  Course  of  Justice 

But  twenty  years!  His  own  pitiful  aggregate 
of  six,  with  vacations  in  between,  as  it  were,  looked 
infinitesimal  beside  that  awful  burial  alive.  He'd 
be  fifty  when  he  came  out — if  he  ever  came  out ! 
Sometimes  they  died  like  flies  in  a  hot  summer. 
And  then  there  was  always  Dannemora — worst  of 
all,  Dannemora !  It  would  kill  him  to  go  back.  He 
couldn't  live  away  from  the  main  stem  now.  Why, 
he  hadn't  been  in  stir  for  five  years.  All  his  prison 
traits,  the  gait,  the  hunch,  were  effaced — gone  com 
pletely.  His  brows  contracted  in  a  sharp  frown. 

"  What's  the  use?  "  he  muttered  as  he  rose  to 
go.  "  He  ain't  worth  it !  I  can  stake  his  wife  and 
kids  till  his  time's  up!  But,  God!  /  could  never 
go  back !  " 

Yet  the  same  irresistible  force  which  had  direct 
ed  him  to  the  court-room  the  day  before,  now  led 
him  to  the  Grand  Central  Station.  Like  one  walk 
ing  in  a  dream,  he  bought  a  ticket  and  took  the 
noon  train  alone  to  Ossining. 

Following  a  path  that  led  him  quickly  to  a  hill 
above  the  town  not  far  from  the  prison  walls,  he 
threw  himself  at  full  length  beside  a  bowlder,  and 
gazed  upon  the  familiar  outlook.  Across  the 
broad,  shining  river  lay  the  dreamy  blue  hills  he 
had  so  often  watched  while  working  at  his  brushes. 
Here  and  there  a  small  boat  skimmed  down  the 
stream  before  the  same  fresh  breeze  that  sent  the 

268 


The  Course  of  Justice 

red  and  brown  leaves  fluttering  along  the  grass. 
The  sunlight  touched  everything  with  enchant 
ment,  the  cool  autumn  air  was  an  intoxicant — it 
was  the  Golden  Age  again.  No,  not  the  Golden 
Age!  Just  below,  two  hundred  yards  away,  he 
noticed  for  the  first  time  a  group  of  men  in  stripes 
breaking  stones.  Some  were  kneeling,  some 
crouching  upon  their  haunches.  They  worked  in 
silence,  cracking  one  stone  after  another  and  mak 
ing  little  piles  of  the  fragments.  At  the  distance  of 
only  a  few  feet  two  guards  leaned  upon  their 
loaded  rifles.  Jim  shut  his  eyes. 


Ill 

The  day  of  sentence  came.  Once  more  Jim 
found  himself  in  the  stifling  court.  He  saw  Mono- 
han  brought  to  the  bar,  and  watched  as  he  waited 
listlessly  for  those  few  terrible  words.  The  Court 
listened  with  grim  patience  to  the  lawyer's  per 
functory  appeal  for  mercy,  and  then,  as  the  latter 
concluded,  addressed  the  prisoner  with  asperity. 

"  Richard  Monohan,  you  have  been  justly  con 
victed  by  a  jury  of  your  peers  of  robbery  in  the 
first  degree.  The  circumstances  are  such  as  to  en 
title  you  to  no  sympathy  from  the  Court.  The  evi 
dence  is  so  clear  and  positive,  and  the  complain- 

269 


The  Course  of  Justice 

ant's  identification  of  you  so  perfect,  that  it  would 
have  been  impossible  for  a  jury  to  reach  any  other 
verdict.  Under  the  law  you  might  be  punished  by 
a  term  of  twenty  years,  but  I  shall  be  merciful  to 
you.  The  sentence  of  the  Court  is — "  here  the 
Judge  adjusted  his  spectacles,  and  scribbled  some 
thing  in  a  book — "  that  you  be  confined  in  State 
Prison  for  a  period  of  not  less  than  ten  nor  more 
than  fifteen  years." 

Monohan  staggered  and  turned  white. 

The  whole  crowded  court-room  gasped  aloud. 

"  Come  on  there !  "  growled  the  attendant  to 
his  prisoner.  But  suddenly  there  was  a  quick 
movement  in  the  centre  of  the  room,  and  a  man 
sprang  to  his  feet. 

"Stop!"  he  shouted.  "Stop!  There's  been 
a  mistake !  You've  convicted  the  wrong  man !  / 
stole  that  ring!  " 

"  Keep  your  seats !  Keep  your  seats !  "  bel 
lowed  the  court  officers  as  the  spectators  rose  im 
pulsively  to  their  feet. 

Those  who  had  been  present  at  the  trial  two 
days  before  were  all  positive  now  that  they  had 
never  taken  any  stock  in  the  old  gentleman's  iden 
tification. 

"  Silence !  Silence  in  the  court !  "  shouted  the 
Captain  pounding  vigorously  with  a  paper-weight. 

"What's  all  this?"  sternly  demanded  the 
270 


The  Course  of  Justice 

Judge.     "  Do  you  claim  that  you  robbed  the  com 
plainant  in  this  case?    Impossible!  " 

"  Not  a  bit,  yer  'Onor!  "  replied  Jim  in  clarion 
tones.  '  You've  nailed  the  wrong  man,  that's  all. 
I  took  the  ring,  pawned  it  for  five  dollars,  and  sold 
the  ticket  to  Monohan  on  the  corner.  I  can't  stand 
for  his  gettin'  any  fifteen  years,"  he  concluded, 
glancing  expectantly  at  the  spectators. 

A  ripple  of  applause  followed  this  declaration. 

u  Hm !  "  commented  his  Honor.  "  How  about 
the  co-defendant  in  the  case,  identified  here  in  the 
court-room?  Do  you  exonerate  him  as  well?  " 

"  I've  nothin'  to  do  with  him''  answered  Jim 
calmly.  "  I've  got  enough  troubles  of  my  own 
without  shouldering  any  more.  Only  Monohan 
didn't  have  any  hand  in  the  job.  YouVe  got  the 
boot  on  the  wrong  foot !  " 

Young  Mr.  Dockbridge,  the  Deputy  Assistant 
District  Attorney,  now  asserted  himself. 

"  This  is  all  very  well,"  said  he  with  interest, 
"  but  we  must  have  it  in  the  proper  form.  If  your 
Honor  will  warn  this  person  of  his  rights,  and  ad 
minister  the  oath,  the  stenographer  may  take  his 
confession  and  make  it  a  part  of  the  record." 

Jim  was  accordingly  sworn,  and  informed  that 
whatever  he  was  about  to  say  must  be  "  without 
fear  or  hope  of  reward,"  and  might  be  used  as  evi 
dence  against  him  thereafter. 

271 


The  Course  of  Justice 

In  the  ingenious  and  exhaustive  interrogation 
which  followed,  the  Judge,  a  noted  cross-examiner, 
only  succeeded  in  establishing  beyond  peradven- 
ture  that  Jim  was  telling  nothing  but  the  truth,  and 
that  Monohan  was,  in  fact,  entirely  innocent.  He 
therefore  consented,  somewhat  ungraciously,  to 
having  the  latter's  conviction  set  aside  and  to  his 
immediate  discharge. 

"  As  for  this  man,"  said  he,  "  commit  him  to 
the  Tombs  pending  his  indictment  by  the  Grand 
Jury,  and  see  to  it,  Mr.  District  Attorney,"  he 
added  with  significance,  "  that  he  be  brought  be 
fore  me  for  sentence." 

Out  into  the  balconies  of  the  court-house 
swarmed  the  mob.  Monohan  had  disappeared 
with  his  wife  and  child,  not  even  pausing  to  thank 
his  benefactor.  It  was  enough  for  him  that  he  had 
escaped  from  the  meshes  of  the  terrible  net  in 
which  he  had  been  entangled. 

From  mouth  to  mouth  sprang  the  wonderful 
story.  It  was  shouted  from  one  corridor  to  an 
other,  and  from  elevator  to  elevator.  Like  a 
wireless  it  flew  to  the  District  Attorney's  office, 
the  reporters'  room,  the  Coroner's  Court,  over  the 
bridge  to  the  Tombs,  across  Centre  Street  into 
Tom  Foley's,  to  Pontin's,  to  the  Elm  Castle,  up 
Broadway,  across  to  the  Bowery,  over  to  the  Ri- 
alto,  along  the  Tenderloin;  it  flashed  to  thieves  in 

272 


The  Course  of  Justice 

the  act  of  picking  pockets,  and  they  paused;  to 
"  second-story  men  "  plotting  in  saloons,  and  held 
them  speechless;  the  "  moll-buzzers  "  heard  it;  the 
"  con  "  men  caught  it;  the  "  britch  men  "  passed  it 
on.  In  an  hour  the  whole  under-world  knew  that 
Supple  Jim  had  squealed  on  himself,  had  taken  his 
dose  to  save  a  pal,  had  anteed  his  last  chip,  had 
"  chucked  the  game." 

IV 

Three  long  months  had  passed,  during  which 
Jim  had  lain  in  the  Tombs.  For  a  day  or  two  the 
newspapers  had  given  him  considerable  notoriety. 
A  few  sentimental  women  had  sent  him  flowers  of 
greater  or  less  fragrance,  with  more  or  less  gram 
matical  expressions  of  admiration;  then  the  dull 
drag  of  prison-time  had  begun,  broken  only  by  the 
daily  visit  of  Paddy,  and  the  more  infrequent  con 
sultations  with  old  Crookshanks. 

The  Grand  Jury  had  promptly  found  an  indict 
ment,  but  when  the  District  Attorney  placed  the 
case  upon  the  calendar  in  order  to  allow  our  hero 
to  plead  guilty,  Mr.  Crookshanks,  Jim's  counsel, 
announced  that  his  client  had  no  intention  of  so 
doing,  and  demanded  an  immediate  trial. 

Dockbridge,  however,  now  found  himself  in  a 
situation  of  singular  embarrassment,  which  made 

273 


The  Course  of  Justice 

action  upon  his  part  for  the  present  impossible. 
He  was  at  his  wits'  end,  for  the  law  expressly  re 
quired  that  no  prisoner  should  be  confined  longer 
than  two  months  without  trial.  And  each  week  he 
was  obliged  to  face  the  redoubtable  Mr.  Crook- 
shanks,  who  with  much  bluster  demanded  that  the 
case  should  be  disposed  of. 

Thirteen  weeks  went  by  and  still  Jim  lived  on 
prison  fare.  Soon  a  reporter — an  acquaintance  of 
Paddy's — commented  upon  the  fact  to  his  city  edi 
tor.  The  policy  of  the  paper  happening  to  be 
against  the  administration,  an  item  appeared 
among  the  "  Criminal  Notes  "  calling  attention  to 
the  period  of  time  during  which  Jim  had  been  in 
carcerated.  Other  papers  copied,  and  scathing 
editorials  followed.  In  twenty-four  hours  Jim's 
detention  beyond  the  time  regulated  by  statute  for 
the  trial  of  a  prisoner  without  bail  had  become  an 
issue.  The  great  American  public,  through  its 
representative,  the  press,  clamored  to  know  why 
the  wheels  of  justice  had  clogged,  and  the  cam 
paign  committee  of  the  reform  party  called  in  a 
body  upon  the  District  Attorney,  warning  him  that 
an  election  was  approaching  and  inquiring  the 
cause  of  the  "  illegal  proceeding  which  had  been 
brought  to  their  attention."  The  editor  of  the 
Midnight  American,  with  his  usual  impetuosity, 
threatened  a  habeas  corpus. 

274 


The  Course  of  Justice 

Then  the  District  Attorney  sent  for  the  Assist 
ant,  and  the  two  had  a  hurried  consultation.  Fi 
nally  the  chief  shook  his  head,  saying :  '  There's 
no  way  out  of  it.  You'll  have  to  go  to  trial 
at  once.  Perhaps  you  can  secure  a  plea.  We 
can't  afford  any  more  delay.  Put  it  on  for  to 
morrow." 

The  next  day  "  Part  One  of  the  Court  of  Gen 
eral  Sessions  of  the  Peace,  in  and  for  the  County  of 
New  York,"  was  crowded  to  suffocation,  for  the 
dramatic  nature  of  Jim's  act  of  self-sacrifice  had 
not  been  forgotten,  and  a  keen  interest  remained 
in  its  denouement.  It  was  a  brilliant  January 
noon,  and  the  sun  poured  through  the  great  win 
dows,  casting  irregular  patches  of  light  upon  the 
throng  within.  High  above  the  crowd  of  lawyers, 
witnesses,  and  policemen  sat  the  Judge ;  below  him, 
the  clerk  and  Assistant  District  Attorney  conferred 
together  as  to  the  order  in  which  the  cases  should 
be  tried;  to  the  left  reclined  a  row  of  non-com 
batants,  "  district  leaders,"  ex-police  magistrates, 
and  a  few  privileged  spectators;  outside  the  rail 
crowded  the  members  of  the  "  criminal  bar  " ; 
while  in  the  main  body  of  the  room  the  benches 
were  tightly  packed  with  loafers,  "  runners  "  for 
the  attorneys,  curious  women,  indignant  complain 
ants,  and  sympathizing  friends  of  the  various  de 
fendants.  Here  no  one  was  allowed  to  stand,  but 

275 


The  Course  of  Justice 

nearer  the  door  the  pressure  became  too  great,  and 
once  more  an  overplus,  new-comers,  lawyers  who 
could  not  force  their  way  to  the  front,  tardy  police 
men,  persons  who  could  not  make  up  their  minds 
to  come  in  and  sit  down,  and  stragglers  generally, 
formed  a  solid  mass,  absolutely  blocking  the  en 
trance,  and  preventing  those  outside  from  getting 
in  or  anyone  inside  from  getting  out. 

Around  the  room  the  huge  pipes  of  the  radiators 
clicked  diligently ;  full  steam  was  on,  not  a  window 
open. 

Jim  was  called  to  the  bar,  the  jury  sworn,  and 
Dockbridge,  with  several  innuendoes  reflecting 
upon  the  moral  character  of  any  man  who  would 
confess  himself  a  criminal  and  yet  put  the  county 
to  the  expense  and  trouble  of  a  trial,  briefly 
opened  the  case. 

The  stenographer  who  had  taken  Jim's  confes 
sion  was  the  first  witness.  He  read  his  notes  in 
full,  while  Dockbridge  nodded  with  an  air  of 
finality  in  the  direction  of  the  jury. 

"  Do  you  care  to  cross-examine,  Mr.  Crook- 
shanks?"  he  inquired. 

The  lawyer  shook  his  head. 

Jim  sat  smiling,  self-possessed,  and  silent. 

The  youthful  Assistant,  still  hoping  to  wring  a 
plea  from  the  defendant,  paused  and  leaned  tow 
ard  the  prisoner's  counsel. 

276 


The  Course  of  Justice 

"  Come,  come,  what's  the  use?  "  he  suggested 
benignantly.  "Why  go  through  all  this  farce? 
Let  him  plead  guilty  to  '  robbery  in  the  second  de 
gree.'  He'll  be  lucky  to  get  that!  It's  his  only 
chance." 

But  upon  the  lean  and  withered  visage  of  the 
veteran  Crookshanks  flickered  an  inscrutable  smile, 
like  that  which  played  upon  the  features  of  his 
client. 

"  Not  on  your  tin-type!  "  he  ejaculated. 

Dockbridge  shrugged  his  shoulders,  hesitated  a 
moment,  then  glanced  a  trifle  uneasily  toward  the 
crowd  of  spectators.  Once  more  he  turned  in  the 
direction  of  the  prisoner. 

"  Well,  I'll  let  him  plead  to  grand  larceny  in 
stead  of  robbery,"  he  said,  with  an  air  of  acting 
against  his  better  judgment. 

Crookshanks  grinned  sardonically  and  again 
shook  his  head. 

"  Very  well,  then,"  said  the  prosecutor  sternly, 
"  your  client  will  have  to  take  the  consequences. 
Call  the  complainant." 

"  Daniel  Parian,  take  the  witness'  chair." 

The  crowd  in  the  court-room  waited  expect 
antly.  The  complainant,  however,  did  not  re 
spond. 

"  Daniel  Parian!  Daniel  Parian!  "  bawled  the 
officer. 

277 


The  Course  of  Justice 

But  the  venerable  Parian  came  not.  Perchance 
he  was  a-sleeping  or  a-hunting. 

"  If  your  Honor  pleases,"  announced  Dock- 
bridge,  "  the  complainant  does  not  answer.  I  must 
ask  for  an  adjournment." 

But  in  an  instant  the  old  war-horse,  Crook- 
shanks,  was  upon  his  feet  snorting  for  the  battle. 

"  I  protest  against  any  such  proceeding!  "  he 
shouted,  his  voice  trembling  with  well-simulated 
indignation.  "  My  client  is  in  jeopardy.  I  insist 
that  this  trial  go  on  here  and  now !  " 

Dockbridge  smiled  deprecatingly,  but  the  jury 
and  spectators  showed  plainly  that  they  were  of 
Mr.  Crookshanks's  opinion.  The  Judge  hesitated 
for  a  moment,  but  his  duty  was  clear.  There  was 
no  question  but  that  Jim  had  been  put  in  jeopardy. 

4  You  must  go  on  with  the  trial,  Mr.  Dock- 
bridge,"  he  announced  reluctantly.  "  The  jury  has 
been  sworn,  and  a  witness  has  testified.  It  is  too 
late  to  stop  now." 

The  Assistant  was  forced  to  admit  that  he  had 
no  further  evidence  at  hand. 

"  What !  "  cried  the  Judge.  "  No  further  evi 
dence  !  Well,  proceed  with  the  defence !  " 

Dockbridge  dropped  into  a  chair  and  mopped 
his  forehead,  while  the  jury  glanced  inquiringly  in 
the  direction  of  the  defendant.  But  now  Crook- 
shanks,  the  hero  of  a  hundred  legal  conflicts,  the 

278 


The   Course  of  Justice 

hope  and  trust  of  all  defenceless  criminals,  slowyl 
arose  and  buttoned  his  threadbare  frock-coat.  He 
looked  the  Court  full  in  the  eye.  The  prosecutor 
he  ignored. 

"  If  your  Honor  please,"  began  the  old  lawyer 
gently,  "  I  move  that  the  Court  direct  the  jury  to 
acquit,  on  the  ground  that  the  People  have  failed 
to  make  out  a  case." 

The  Assistant  jumped  to  his  feet.  The  specta 
tors  stared  in  amazement  at  the  audacity  of  the 
request.  The  Judge's  face  became  a  study. 

'What  do  you  mean,  Mr.  Crookshanks?  "  he 
exclaimed.  '  This  man  is  a  self-confessed  crim 
inal.  Do  you  hear,  sir,  a  self-confessed  criminal." 

But  the  anger  of  the  Court  had  no  terrors  for 
little  Crookshanks.  He  waited  calmly  until  the 
Judge  had  concluded,  smiled  deferentially,  and  re 
sumed  his  remarks,  as  if  the  bench  were  in  its 
usual  state  of  placidity. 

"  I  must  beg  most  respectfully  to  point  out  to 
your  Honor  that  the  Criminal  Code  provides  that 
the  confession  of  a  defendant  is  not  of  itself 
enough  to  warrant  his  conviction  without  addi 
tional  proof  that  the  crime  charged  has  been  com 
mitted.  May  I  be  pardoned  for  indicating  to  your 
Honor  that  the  only  evidence  in  this  proceeding 
against  my  client  is  his  own  confession,  made,  I  be 
lieve,  some  time  ago,  under  circumstances  which 

279 


The  Course  of  Justice 

were,  to  say  the  least,  unusual.  While  I  do  not 
pretend  to  doubt  the  sincerity  of  his  motives  on 
that  occasion,  or  to  contest  at  this  juncture  the 
question  of  his  moral  guilt,  the  fact  remains  that 
there  has  been  no  additional  proof  adduced  upon 
any  of  the  material  points  in  the  case,  to  wit,  that 
the  complainant  ever  existed,  ever  possessed  a 
ring,  or  that  it  was  ever  taken  from  him." 

He  paused,  coughed  slightly,  and,  removing 
from  his  green  bag  a  folded  paper,  continued: 
"  In  addition,  it  is  my  duty  to  inform  the  Court 
that  a  person  named  Farlan  left  the  jurisdiction  of 
this  tribunal  upon  the  day  after  Monohan's  con 
viction  of  the  offence  for  which  my  client  is  now 
on  trial. 

"  After  such  an  unfortunate  mistake,"  said 
Crookshanks  with  an  almost  imperceptible  twinkle 
in  his  "  jury  eye,"  "  he  can  hardly  be  expected  to 
assist,  voluntarily  in  a  second  prosecution.  I  hold 
in  my  hand  his  affidavit  that  he  has  left  the  State 
never  to  return." 

The  Judge  had  left  his  chair  and  was  striding  up 
and  down  the  dais.  He  now  turned  wrathfully 
upon  poor  Dockbridge. 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  trying  a  case  before  me 
prepared  in  such  a  fashion?  This  is  a  disgraceful 
miscarriage  of  justice !  I  shall  lay  the  matter  be 
fore  the  District  Attorney  in  person !  Mr.  Crook- 

280 


The  Course  of  Justice 

shanks  has  correctly  stated  the  law.  I  am  ab 
solutely  compelled  to  discharge  this  defendant, 
who,  by  his  own  statement,  ought  to  be  incarcer 
ated  in  State  Prison!  I — I — the  Court  has  been 
hoodwinked !  The  District  Attorney  made  ridicu 
lous!  As  for  you,"  casting  a  withering  glance 
upon  the  prisoner,  "  if  I  ever  have  the  opportunity, 
I  shall  punish  you  as  you  deserve !  " 

Dead  silence  fell  upon  the  court-room.  The 
clerk  arose  and  cleared  his  throat. 

"  Mr.  Foreman,  have  you  agreed  upon  a  ver 
dict?  What  say  you?  Do  you  find  the  defendant 
guilty,  or  not  guilty?  " 

"  Not  guilty,"  replied  the  foreman,  somewhat 
doubtfully. 

There  was  a  smothered  demonstration  in  the 
rear  of  the  court-room.  A  few  spectators  had  the 
temerity  to  clap  their  hands. 

"  Silence !  Silence  in  the  court !  "  shouted  the 
Captain. 

The  clerk  faced  the  prisoner. 

"  James  Hawkins,  alias  James  Hawkinson, 
alias  Supple  Jim,  you  are  discharged." 

As  our  hero  stepped  from  behind  the  bar,  Paddy 
was  the  first  to  grasp  his  hand. 

'  You're  the  cleverest  boy  in  New  York!  "  he 
muttered  enthusiastically;  "and  say,  Jim,"  he 
lowered  his  voice — could  it  be  with  a  shade  of  em- 

281 


The   Course  of  Justice 

barrassment? — "you're  a  hero  all  right,  into  the 
bargain." 

"  Oh,  cut  that  out!  "  answered  Jim.  "  Wasn't 
I  playing  a  sure  thing?  And  wasn't  it  worth  three 
months, — and  ten  dollars  per  to  the  old  guy  for 
staying  over  in  Jersey, — to  put  'em  in  a  hole  like 
that?" 

And  the  two  of  them,  relieved  by  this  evasion  of 
an  impending  and  depressing  cloud  of  moral  su 
periority,  went  out,  with  others,  to  get  a  drink. 


282 


THE  MAXIMILIAN  DIAMOND 


The  Maximilian  Diamond 

DOCKBRIDGE  yawned,  threw  down  his 
fountain-pen,  whirled  his  chair  away  from 
the  window,  through  which  the  afternoon  sun  was 
pouring  a  dazzling  flood  of  light,  crossed  his  feet 
upon  the  rickety  old  table  whose  faded  green 
baize  was  littered  with  newspapers,  law  books, 
copies  of  indictments,  and  empty  cigarette  boxes, 
and  idly  contemplated  the  graphophone,  his  latest 
acquisition.  To  a  stranger,  this  little  office,  tucked 
away  behind  an  elevator  shaft  under  the  eaves  of 
the  Criminal  Courts  Building,  might  have  proved 
of  some  interest,  filled  as  it  was  on.every  side  with 
mementoes  of  hard-fought  cases  in  the  courts  be 
low,  framed  copies  of  forged  checks  and  notes, 
photographs  of  streets  and  houses  known  to  fame 
only  by  virtue  of  the  tragedies  they  had  witnessed, 
and  an  uncouth  collection  of  weapons  of  all  varieties 
from  a  stiletto  and  long  tapering  bread  knife  to  the 
most  modern  Colt  automatic.  On  the  bookcase 
stood  an  innocent-looking  bottle  which  had  once 
contained  poison,  while  above  it  hung  a  faded  in 
dictment  accusing  someone  long  since  departed  of 
administering  its  contents  to  another  who  did  "  for 

285 


The  Maximilian  Diamond 

a  long  time  languish,  and  languishing  did  die." 
An  enormous  black  leather  lounge,  a  safe,  several 
chairs,  and  some  pictures  of  English  and  American 
jurists  completed  the  contents  of  the  room.  Here 
Dockbridge  had  for  five  years  interviewed  his  wit 
nesses,  prepared  his  cases,  and  dreamed  of  estab 
lishing  a  forensic  reputation  which  should  later  by 
a  shower  of  gold  repay  him  in  part  for  the  many 
tedious  hours  passed  within  its  walls.  From  the 
grimy  windows  he  could  look  down  upon  the  court 
yard  of  the  Tombs  and  see  the  prisoners  taking 
their  daily  exercise,  while  from  the  distance  came 
faintly  the  din  and  rattle  of  Broadway.  An  air- 
shaft  which  passed  through  the  room  communicated 
in  some  devious  manner  with  the  prison  pens  on  the 
mezzanine  floor  far  beneath,  and  at  times  strange 
odors  would  come  floating  up  bringing  suggestions 
of  prison  fare.  On  such  occasions  Dockbridge 
would  throw  wide  both  windows,  open  the  tran 
som,  and  seek  refuge  in  the  library. 

Taken  as  a  whole,  his  five  years  there  had  been 
invaluable  both  from  a  personal  and  professional 
point  of  view.  He  had  found  himself  from  the 
very  first  day  in  a  sort  of  huge  legal  clinic,  where 
hourly  he  could  run  through  the  whole  gamut  of 
human  emotions.  It  was  to  him,  the  embryonic 
advocate,  what  hospital  service  is  to  the  surgeon. 
He  was,  as  it  were,  an  intern  practising  the  sur- 

286 


The  Maximilian  Diamond 

gery  of  the  law.  And  what  a  multitude  of  cases 
came  there  for  treatment — every  disease  of  the 
mind  and  heart  and  soul !  For  a  year  or  two  he 
had  been  racked  nervously  and  emotionally,  forced 
from  laughter  in  one  moment,  to  tears  the  next. 
Then  the  mere  fascination  of  his  trade  as  prose 
cutor,  the  marshalling  of  evidence,  the  tactics  of 
trials,  the  thwarting  of  conspiracies,  the  analysis  of 
motives,  the  exposure  of  cunning  tricks  to  liberate 
the  guilty,  had  so  possessed  his  mind  that  the  suf 
fering  and  sin  about  him,  though  keenly  realized, 
no  longer  cost  him  sleep  and  peace  of  mind.  And 
the  stories  that  he  heard!  The  mysteries  which 
were  unravelled  before  his  very  eyes,  and  those 
deeper  mysteries  the  secrets  of  which  were  never 
revealed,  but  remained  sealed  in  the  hearts  of  those 
who,  rather  than  disclose  them,  sought  sanctuary 
within  prison  walls ! 

How  he  wished  sometimes  that  he  could  write — 
if  only  a  little  !  Through  what  strange  labyrinths 
of  human  passion  and  ingenuity  could  he  conduct  his 
readers  !  Sometimes  he  tried  to  scribble  the  stories 
down,  but  the  words  would  not  come.  How  could 
you  describe  your  feelings  while  trying  a  man  for 
his  life,  when  he  sat  there  at  the  bar  pallid  and 
tense,  his  hands  clutching  each  other  until  the 
nails  quivered  in  the  flesh;  the  groan  of  the  con 
victed  felon ;  the  wail  of  the  heart-broken  mother 

287 


The  Maximilian  Diamond 

as  her  son  was  led  away  by  the  officer?  He  had 
seen  one  poor  fellow  faint  dead  away  on  hearing  his 
sentence  to  the  living  tomb ;  and  had  heard  a  mur 
derer  laugh  when  convicted  and  the  day  set  for  his 
execution.  Sometimes,  in  sheer  desperation  at  the 
thought  of  losing  what  he  had  seen  and  experi 
enced,  he  would  turn  on  the  graphophone  and  talk 
into  it,  disconnectedly,  by  the  hour.  It  usually 
came  out  in  better  shape  than  what  he  turned  off 
with  his  pen.  If  he  could  only  write ! 

"Dockbridge!     Hi,  there,  Dockbridge!" 

The  door  was  kicked  open,  and  the  lank  figure 
'of  one  of  his  associates  stood  before  him.  His 
visitor  grinned,  and  removed  his  pipe. 

"  Bob'll  be  up  in  a  minute.  Come  along  to 
1  Coney.'  " 

"  Don't  feel  kittenish  enough,"  answered  Dock- 
bridge. 

"  Oh,  come  on !    It'll  do  you  good." 

The  sound  of  rapid  steps  flew  up  the  stairs,  and 
Bob  burst  into  the  room,  almost  upsetting  the  first 
arrival. 

"  What  are  you  doing  up  here  in  this  smelly 
place?  "  he  inquired.  "  Got  a  cigarette?  " 

Dockbridge  threw  him  a  package  without  alter 
ing  his  position. 

At  this  moment  the  heavily  built  figure  of  the 
chief  of  staff  entered. 

288 


The  Maximilian  Diamond 

"Holding  a  reception?"  he  asked  good-natur 
edly. 

Bob  had  slipped  behind  the  owner  of  the 
graphophone  and  was  rapidly  surveying  his  desk. 
Suddenly  he  pounced  on  a  pile  of  yellow  paper, 
and,  snatching  it  up,  ran  across  the  room. 

"I  thought  so!    He's  been  writing." 

"  Here  you,  Bob,  give  that  back!  "  cried  Dock- 
bridge,  springing  up.  He  was  blocked  by  the  chief 
of  staff. 

"  Fair  play,  now.  It  may  be  libellous.  The 
censor  demands  the  right  of  inspection." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  mind  if  you  see  it!  "  said  Dock- 
bridge,  "  only  I  don't  intend  that  cub  to  snicker 
over  it.  It's  nothing,  anyway." 

"'The  Maximilian  Diamond!'  '  shouted  the 
thief.  "By  George,  what  a  rippin'  title!  Full 
of  gore,  I  bet!  " 

'  You  give  that  back !  "  growled  its  owner. 

"  Gentlemen,  allow  me  to  present  the  well- 
known  author  and  brilliant  young  literary  man, 
Mr.  John  Dockbridge,  whose  picture  in  four 
colors  is  soon  to  appear  on  the  cover  of  the 
'  Maiden's  Gaslog  Companion,'  "  continued  Bob. 
"  I  read,  '  The  villain  stood  with  his  dagger  ele 
vated  for  an  instant  above  the  bare  breast  of  his 
palpitating  victim.'  My,  but  it's  great!  " 

'  You  see  you'd  better  read  it  to  us  in  self- 
289 


The  Maximilian  Diamond 

defence,"    remarked   the   chief   of    staff.      "  Go 
ahead!" 

"  Promise,  and  I'll  give  it  back,"  said  Bob, 
from  the  door.  "  Refuse,  and  I  send  it  to  the 
4  American.' ' 

"  It  wasn't  for  publication,  anyway,"  explained 
Dockbridge. 

"  Of  course  not,"  answered  Bob.  "  We'll  pass 
on  it.  Perhaps  we'll  send  it  in  for  that  Five- 
Thousand-Dollar  competition." 

"Well,  shut  up,  and  I  will.  Give  it  here!" 
Dockbridge  recovered  the  manuscript  and  returned 
to  his  armchair.  The  others  disposed  themselves 
upon  the  lounge. 

"  Oyez !  Oyez !  "  cried  Bob.  "  All  persons  de 
siring  to  hear  the  great  American  novel,  draw 
near,  give  your  attention  and  ye  shall  be  heard." 

"  Keep  still !  "  ordered  the  chief  of  staff.  "  Go 
ahead,  Jack.  I'll  make  him  shut  up." 

"  Mind  you  do,"  said  Dockbridge.  "  It's  about 
that  big  diamond,  you  know.  The  story  begins  in 
this  room." 

"  Well,  begin  it,"  laughed  Bob. 

His  companions  pulled  his  head  down  on  the 
chief's  lap  and  smothered  him  with  a  handker 
chief. 

'  Well,"  said  Dockbridge  rather  sheepishly, 
"  here  goes." 

290 


The  Maximilian   Diamond 

THE  MAXIMILIAN  DIAMOND 

A  stout,  jovial-looking  person,  with  reddish 
hair,  sandy  complexion,  and  watery  blue  eyes, 
stood  waiting  in  my  office,  his  wrist  attached  by 
means  of  a  nickel-plated  handcuff  to  that  of  a 
keeper.  My  two  visitors  conducted  themselves 
with  remarkable  unanimity,  and  with  but  a  single 
motion  sank  into  the  chairs  I  offered. 

"Well,  what's  the  trouble?"  I  inquired  ge 
nially. 

The  keeper  jerked  his  thumb  in  the  direction  of 
the  other,  who  grinned  apologetically  and  hitched 
in  my  direction.  Bending  toward  me,  he  whis 
pered  :  "  I  am  the  victim  of  one  of  the  most  re 
markable  conspiracies  in  history.  My  story  in 
volves  personages  of  the  highest  rank,  and  is 
stranger  than  one  of  Dumas'  romances.  I  am  a 
bill-poster." 

Not  knowing  whether  he  intended  to  include 
himself  among  the  illustrious  persons  alluded  to,  I 
nodded  encouragingly  and  produced  some  cigars. 

"  My  name  is  Riggs,"  continued  the  prisoner,  as 
he  bit  off  the  end  of  his  cigar  and  expelled  it 
through  the  window.  "  Got  a  match?  " 

The  keeper  drew  a  handful  from  his  pocket.  I 
lit  a  cigar  for  myself  and  assumed  an  attitude  of 
attention. 

291 


The  Maximilian  Diamond 

"  My  wife  is  little  Flossie  Riggs.  Don't  know 
her?  Why,  she  dances  at  Proctor's,  and  all  over. 
I  was  doing  well  at  my  trade,  and  would  have  been 
doing  better,  if  it  hadn't  been  for  that  confounded 
diamond.  It  was  this  way.  There  was  a  fellow 
named  Tenney,  who  posted  bills  with  me  about 
five  years  back,  and  he  finally  got  a  job  down  in 
the  City  of  Mexico  with  a  railroad,  and  I  used  to 
correspond  with  him. 

"  Among  other  things,  he  told  me  about  a  great 
big  diamond  that  the  Emperor  Maximilian  used 
to  wear  in  the  middle  of  his  crown.  According  to 
Tenney,  it  was  one  of  the  biggest  on  record.  He 
said  that  Maximilian  was  so  stuck  on  it  that  he  had 
it  taken  out  and  made  into  a  pendant  for  the  Em 
press  Carlotta,  and  that  she  used  to  wear  it  around 
at  all  the  court  functions,  and  so  on.  About  the 
same  time  he  took  two  other  diamonds  out  of 
the  crown  and  made  them  into  finger-rings  for 
himself. 

"  After  a  while  the  Mexicans  got  tired  of  hav 
ing  an  empire  and  put  Maximilian  out  of  business. 
They  stood  him  and  two  of  his  generals  up  in  the 
parade  ground  at  Queretaro  and  shot  'em.  Now 
when  he  was  stood  up  to  get  shot  he  had  those  two 
rings  on  his  fingers,  and  the  funny  part  of  it  was 
that  when  the  people  rushed  up  to  see  whether  he 
was  dead  or  not,  both  the  rings  were  gone.  Just 

292 


The  Maximilian   Diamond 

about  that  time,  while  Carlotta  was  in  prison,  the 
diamond  with  the  big  pendant  disappeared  too.  It 
weighed  thirty-three  carats.  I  got  all  this  from 
Tenney.  I  don't  know  where  he  found  out  about 
it.  But  it  all  happened  way  back  in  '67. 

"  Somehow  or  other  I  used  to  think  quite  a  lot 
about  that  diamond — partly  because  I  was  sorry 
for  Max,  who  looked  to  have  come  out  at  the 
small  end;  and  there  didn't  seem  to  be  any  occasion 
for  shooting  him  anyhow,  that  I  could  see. 

"  Well,  I  went  on  bill-posting,  and  got  a  good 
job  with  the  Hair  Restorer  folks  and  was  doing 
well,  as  I  said,  until  one  day  I  happened  to  take  up 
a  paper  and  read  that  there  were  two  Mexicans  out 
in  St.  Louis  trying  to  sell  an  enormous  diamond, 
but  that  the  dealers  there  were  all  afraid  to  buy  it. 
Finally  the  police  got  suspicious,  and  the  Mexicans 
disappeared.  Then  all  of  a  sudden  it  came  over 
me  that  this  must  be  the  diamond  that  Tenney  had 
wrote  about,  for  all  that  it  had  been  lost  for  nearly 
forty  years,  and  I  made  up  my  mind  that  the  Mexi 
cans,  having  failed  in  St.  Louis,  would  probably 
come  to  New  York.  I  knew  they  had  no  right  to 
the  diamond  anyway,  first  because  it  belonged  to 
Maximilian's  heirs,  and  second  because  it  hadn't 
paid  no  duty;  and  I  said  to  myself,  '  Next  time  I 
write  to  Tenney  he  will  hear  something  that  will 
make  him  sit  up.'  So  every  morning,  when  I 

293 


The  Maximilian   Diamond 

started  out  with  my  paste-pot  and  roll  of  posters, 
I  would  keep  my  eye  peeled  for  the  two  Mexicans. 

"  But  I  didn't  hear  any  more  about  the  diamond 
for  a  long  time,  and  I  had  'most  forgot  all  about  it, 
until  one  day  I  was  plastering  up  one  of  those 
yellow-headed  Hair  Restorer  girls  in  Madison 
Square,  when  I  saw  two  chaps  cross  over  Twenty- 
third  Street  toward  the  Park.  They  were  the  very 
gazeebos  I'd  been  looking  for.  Both  were  dark 
and  thin  and  short,  and,  queerer  still,  one  of  them 
carried  a  big  red  case  in  his  hand. 

'  With  my  heart  rattling  against  my  teeth,  I 
jumped  down  from  the  ladder  and  started  after 
them.  They  hurried  along  the  street  until  they 
came  to  a  jeweller's  on  Broadway,  about  a  block 
from  the  Square.  They  went  in,  and  I  peeked 
through  the  window.  Presently  out  they  came  in 
a  great  hurry.  They  still  had  the  red  case,  and  I 
made  a  dash  for  the  door  and  rushed  in.  There 
was  the  store-keeper  with  eyes  bulgin'  half-way 
out  of  his  head. 

"  '  Say,'  says  I,  '  did  those  dagoes  try  to  sell 
you  a  diamond?  ' 

'  Yes,'  says  he,  '  the  biggest  I  ever  saw.  They 
wanted  forty  thousand  dollars  for  it,  and  I  offered 
them  fifteen  thousand,  but  they  wouldn't  take  it.' 

''  I  didn't  give  him  time  for  another  word,  but 
turned  around  and  made  another  jump  for  the 

294 


The  Maximilian  Diamond 

door.  The  Mexicans  were  almost  out  of  sight,  but 
I  could  still  see  them  walking  toward  the  Fifth 
Avenue  Hotel,  and  I  hustled  after  them  tight  as  I 
could,  picked  up  two  cops  on  the  way  down,  and, 
just  as  they  were  turning  in  at  the  entrance,  we 
pounced  on  'em. 

4  You're  under  arrest !  '  I  yelled,  so  excited  I 
didn't  really  know  what  I  was  doing.  The  fellow 
with  the  red  case  dodged  back  and  handed  it  over 
to  a  big  chap  who  had  joined  them.  This  one 
didn't  appear  to  want  to  take  it,  and  seemed  quite 
peevish  at  what  was  happening.  He  turned  out 
afterward  to  have  been  a  General  Dosbosco  of  the 
Haytien  Junta.  Well,  the  cops  grabbed  all  three 
of  them  and  collared  the  leather  case.  Sure 
enough,  so  help  me  — !  There  inside  was  the  big 
diamond,  and  not  only  that,  but  a  necklace  with 
eighteen  stones,  and  two  enormous  solitaire  rings. 
The  big  stone  was  yellowish,  but  the  others  were 
pure  white,  sparklin'  like  one  of  those  electric 
Pickle  signs  with  fifty-seven  varieties.  By  that 
time  the  hurry-up  wagon  had  come,  and  pretty 
soon  the  whole  crew  of  us,  diamonds,  Mexicans, 
cops,  paste-pot,  and  me,  were  clattering  to  the  po 
lice-station  for  fair.  There  I  told  'em  all  about  the 
diamond,  and  they  telephoned  over  to  Colonel 
Dudley,  at  the  Custom-house,  and  the  upshot  of 
the  whole  matter  was  that  the  two  Mexicans  were 

295 


The  Maximilian  Diamond 

held  on  a  charge  of  smuggling  diamonds  into  the 
United  States. 

"  If  you  don't  believe  what  I  tell  you,"  said 
Riggs,  noticing,  perhaps,  a  suggestion  of  incredu 
lity  in  my  face,  "  just  look  at  these  " ;  and  fumbling 
in  his  pocket,  he  produced  some  very  soiled  and 
crumpled  clippings,  containing  pictures  of  Max 
imilian,  the  Empress  Carlotta,  and  of  a  very  large 
diamond  which  appeared  to  be  about  the  size  of 
the  "  Regent."  It  was  then  that  I  dimly  remem 
bered  reading  something  of  a  diamond  seizure  a 
short  time  before,  and  it  was  with  a  renewed  in 
terest  that  I  listened  to  the  continuation  of  my 
client's  story. 

"  Well,"  said  Riggs,  "  that  was  strange,  now, 
wasn't  it? 

'  You  can  imagine  how  I  felt  when  I  went  home 
and  told  little  Flossie  about  the  diamond;  that  I 
was  entitled  to  a  fifty  per  cent,  informer's  reward; 
how  I  was  going  to  give  up  bill-posting  and  just  be 
her  manager,  and  how  we  could  take  a  bigger 
flat,  and  all  that;  and  I  thought  so  much  about  it, 
and  talked  so  much  about  it,  that  I  began  to  feel 
like  I  was  Rockefeller  already,  which  may  account 
in  part  for  what  happened  afterward." 

At  this  point  the  keeper  moved  uneasily,  and  I 
pushed  him  another  cigar. 

"  Well,"  continued  Riggs,  "  I  just  walked  on 
296 


The  Maximilian  Diamond 

air  that  afternoon  after  leaving  the  Custom 
house,  and  went  around  blabbing  like  a  poor  fool 
about  my  good  luck.  On  the  way  home  I  stopped 
in  to  take  a  drink.  There  were  a  lot  of  my  ac 
quaintances  there,  and  I  had  something  with  most 
of  them,  and  then  the  first  thing  I  knew  everything 
swam  before  my  eyes.  I  groped  my  way  into  the 
street  and  started  toward  home,  but  I  had  only 
taken  a  few  steps  when  a  gang  of  strong-arm 
men  attacked  me,  knocked  me  down,  and  robbed 
me.  I  struggled  to  my  feet  and  followed  them. 
They  turned  and  attacked  me  again.  I  drew  my 
knife,  and  then  everything  got  dark,  and  the  next 
thing  I  knew  I  was  in  the  police-station. 

"  I'll  admit  that  this  part  of  it  does  seem  a  little 
queer."  Riggs  dropped  his  voice  mysteriously  and 
leaned  toward  me.  "  But  I  have  no  doubt  that  I 
was  drugged  and  beaten  for  the  purpose  of  getting 
me  locked  up  in  the  Tombs  as  part  of  a  well- 
planned  scheme.  You  will  see  for  yourself  later 
on. 

"  Next  morning,  while  I  was  waiting  examina 
tion  in  the  prison  pen,  a  man  came  along  who  said 
he  was  a  lawyer  and  would  take  my  case.  I  said, 
All  right,  but  that  he  would  have  to  wait  for  his 
pay.  He  laughed,  and  said  he  guessed  there  would 
be  no  trouble  about  that ;  and  the  next  thing  I  knew 
I  was  up  before  the  Judge.  My  lawyer  went  up 

297 


The  Maximilian  Diamond 

and  whispered  something  to  him,  and  the  magis 
trate  said: 

"  '  Five  hundred  dollars  bail  for  trial.' 

"  '  Look  here,'  I  spoke  up,  '  ain't  I  going  to 
have  a  chance  to  tell  my  story?  ' 

"  '  Keep  quiet,'  said  the  lawyer  from  behind  his 
hand;  '  this  is  just  a  form.  You  won't  never  have 
to  be  tried.  It's  just  to  get  you  out.' 

"  So  I  said  nothing,  and  went  back  to  the  pen 
and  waited;  and  the  next  thing  I  knew  the  hurry- 
up  wagon  had  taken  me  to  the  Tombs.  I  tell  you 
it  was  pretty  tough  bein'  chucked  in  with  a  lot  of 
thieves  and  burglars.  The  bill  of  fare  ain't  above 
par,  you  know,  and  the  company's  worse.  I  sat 
in  my  cell  and  waited  and  waited  for  my  lawyer  to 
show  up,  for  he  had  said  he'd  be  right  over.  But 
he  didn't  come,  and  I  had  to  spend  the  night  there. 
Next  morning  the  keeper  told  me  that  my  lawyer 
was  in  the  counsel-room.  So  down  I  went  with  two 
niggers,  who  also  had  an  appointment  with  their 
lawyers.  It's  a  nasty,  unventilated  hole,  and  they 
lock  you  and  the  attorneys  all  in  together.  Ever 
been  there?  " 

I  shook  my  head. 

"  '  Well,'  says  he,  c  now  have  you  got  a  bonds 
man?  ' 

"  'A  what?'  says  I. 

'  A  bondsman — someone  to  go  bail  for  you.' 
298 


The  Maximilian  Diamond 

'  No,'  I  answered,  for  I  knew  nothing  about 
such  things. 

"  '  What !  I  thought  you  told  me  you  had  a  lot 
of  friends  who  had  money!  You  haven't  been 
trifling  with  me,  have  you?  ' 

"  I  knew  I  hadn't  told  him  anything  of  the 
sort,  but  I  thought  that  maybe  he  had  forgotten; 
so  I  said  I  hadn't  any  friends  who  had  any  money, 
and  knew  no  one  to  go  bail  for  me. 

"  '  Bad!  very  bad!  '  said  he.  '  You've  got  to 
have  money  to  get  out.  Isn't  there  anyone  who 
owes  you  money,  or  haven't  you  got  some  claim  or 
something?  ' 

"  Then  all  of  a  sudden  it  flashed  over  me  about 
the  diamond  and  my  fifty  per  cent,  of  the  reward, 
and  then  something  in  his  eye  made  me  think  again. 
It  seemed  to  me  that  I  had  seen  him  before  some 
where.  I  couldn't  remember  just  where,  but  the 
more  I  hesitated  the  surer  I  was.  Then  it  came 
over  me  that  a  few  days  in  jail,  more  or  less,  made 
mighty  little  difference  when  I  was  going  to  be  a 
rich  man  so  soon,  and  I  decided  I  had  better  hang 
on  to  what  I'd  got. 

"  '  No,'  said  I,  *  I  ain't  got  nothinV 

"  '  You  lie!  '  says  he,  growing  very  red.  *  You 
lie !  You've  got  a  claim  against  the  United  States 
Government.' 

"  Then  he  saw  he'd  made  a  break. 


The  Maximilian  Diamond 

"  '  Why,  they  all  told  me  you  caught  a  smug 
gler,  or  something,  and  had  a  claim  against  the 
Government  for  a  hundred  dollars.' 

"  '  A  hundred !  '  I  yelled.    '  Twenty  thousand !  ' 

"  '  Oh!  '  said  he,  '  as  much  as  that?  Why,  I'll 
get  you  out  this  afternoon.' 

"'How?'  said  I. 

"  *  Well,  you  will  have  to  assign  your  claim  so  I 
can  raise  the  money  on  it.  It's  a  mere  form.' 

u  But  the  thought  came  into  my  mind,  Better 
stay  there  ten  years  than  let  him  have  the  claim; 
so  I  said  that  I  didn't  understand  such  things,  and 
I'd  just  wait  until  I  could  be  tried. 

"  '  Tried?  '  said  he.  '  Why,  you  won't  be  tried 
for  months.' 

"  My  heart  sank  right  down  into  my  boots. 

"  '  Don't  be  a  fool!  '  he  went  on.  '  Here  you 
are,  sick  and  in  prison,  and  if  you  don't  raise 
money  to  get  a  bondsman  you'll  stay  here  a  long 
time.  You  might  die.  And  if  you  assign  that 
claim  to  me,  I  have  a  pull  with  the  Judge  and  I'll 
have  you  out  by  supper-time.' 

"  '  I  guess  I'll  wait  awhile,'  said  I. 

"  '  Think  it  over,  anyway.  Now  I  tell  you 
what  I'll  do.  To-morrow  you  go  up  for  pleading. 
You  have  to  say  whether  you  are  guilty  or  not 
guilty.  I'll  act  as  your  lawyer  and  see  you  through 
that  part  of  it  for  nothing,  and  then  if  you  still 

300 


The  Maximilian   Diamond 

don't  want  to  assign  the  claim,  why,  you  can  do  as 
you  choose.' 

"  That  seemed  fair  enough,  so  I  agreed.  I 
spent  another  night  in  the  cells,  and  next  day  about 
thirty  of  us  were  taken  across  the  bridge  into  the 
court-room.  One  by  one  we  were  led  up  to  the 
bar,  and  the  clerk  asked  us  were  we  guilty  or  not 
guilty.  The  ones  that  said  they  were  guilty  went 
off  to  Sing  Sing  or  Blackwell's  Island.  It  scared 
the  life  out  of  me.  I  was  afraid  that  I  might  not 
be  able  to  say  '  not,'  and  so  get  sent  off  too,  but 
pretty  soon  I  saw  my  lawyer. 

"'  P.  Llewellyn  Riggs!' 

"  Up  jumped  Mr.  Lawyer  and  says,  *  Not 
guilty.' 

"  What  day?  "  asked  the  clerk. 

"  '  The  2ist,'  says  Mr.  Lawyer. 

"  I  was  dumb  for  a  minute. 

"  *  Look  here,'  I  whispered.  *  To-day's  only 
the  first — that's  three  weeks.' 

"  '  Keep  quiet,'  shouted  an  officer,  and  gave  me 
a  punch  in  the  back. 

"  '  It's  all  right,'  whispered  Mr.  Lawyer.  '  It's 
only  a  form.'  And  they  hustled  me  out  back  to  the 
Tombs. 

"  I  didn't  hear  anything  all  that  day  or  the  next. 
It  seemed  as  if  I  should  go  mad.  But  at  last  I  was 
notified  that  my  lawyer  was  there  again,  and  down 

301 


The  Maximilian  Diamond 

I  went  glad  enough  for  the  change.     By  that  time 
I  was  feeling  pretty  seedy. 

"  '  Well,  young  man,'  said  he,  '  can  we  do  busi 
ness?  ' 

'  That  depends,'  I  answered. 
'  Come,  no  fooling,  now;  if  you  want  to  get 
out,  give  me  an  assignment  of  your  claim.' 

"  '  Never,'  I  replied. 

"  '  Then  to  h —  with  you!  '  he  shouted;  '  you 
can  rot  here  alone  and  try  your  case  by  yourself, 
and  I  hope  you'll  get  twenty  years.' 

"  I  almost  sank  through  the  floor.  Twenty 
years!  " 

Riggs  had  become  quite  dramatic,  and  was  again 
leaning  forward  looking  me  straight  in  the  eyes. 

"  Well,  I  stood  fast,  and  he  cursed  me  out 
and  left  me,  and  I  began  to  feel  that  after  all 
maybe  I  was  a  fool.  I  hadn't  let  my  wife  know 
where  I  was,  but  now  I  wrote  to  her,  and  she  came 
right  down  and  comforted  me.  A  brave  little 
woman  she  is,  too.  And  what  was  more,  she  said 
that  a  nice  young  lawyer  had  just  moved  into  our 
house  and  had  the  flat  below,  and  she  would  go 
and  get  him. 

"  So  next  morning — I  had  been  in  there  a 
week — the  young  lawyer  came.  I  liked  him  from 
the  start.  When  I  told  him  my  first  lawyer's  name 
he  just  leaned  back  and  laughed. 

302 


The  Maximilian  Diamond 

"  '  Old  Todd?  '  he  says;  {  why,  he's  the  worst 
robber  in  the  outfit.  If  he  had  gotten  that  assign 
ment  he'd  have  let  you  lie  here  forever  and  been  in 
Paris  by  this  time.  You're  a  lucky  man,'  says  he. 

"  Well,  I  thought  so  too,  and  laughed  with  him. 

"  '  But,'  he  continued,  '  you're  in  an  embarrass 
ing  position.  You  can't  get  out  without  money, 
and  you  can't  collect  your  claim.  You'll  have  to 
assign  it  to  someone.  You  can't  assign  it  to  your 
wife.  That  wouldn't  be  valid.  Haven't  you  got 
some  friend?  ' 

"  '  I'm  afraid  not,'  said  I. 

"  '  That's  unfortunate,'  he  remarked,  looking 
out  where  the  window  ought  to  be.  '  Very  un 
fortunate.  I  might  lend  you  a  couple  of  hundred 
myself,'  he  added.  '  I  will,  too!  ' 

"  The  blood  jumped  right  up  in  my  throat.' 

"  '  God  bless  you !  '  said  I,  '  you're  a  true 
friend!' 

"  He  laid  his  hand  on  my  shoulder. 

"  '  You're  in  hard  luck,  old  man,  but  you're  go 
ing  to  win  out.  I'll  stand  by  you.  Here's  a  five. 
I'll  go  out  and  get  the  rest  right  off.' 

'  Then  all  of  a  sudden  I  began  to  feel  like  a 
king.  I  could  see  myself  in  a  new  suit,  having  a 
bottle  up  at  the  Haymarket.  I  realized  that  I  was 
a  twenty-thousand-dollar  millionaire.  And  just  to 
show  my  chest,  I  said : 

303 


The  Maximilian  Diamond 

**  '  Why,  you're  an  honest  man  and  a  true 
friend.  You  take  my  claim  and  go  and  collect  it 
this  afternoon,'  says  I. 

"  '  No,'  he  hesitated,  '  it's  too  much  responsi 
bility.  I'll  trust  you  for  the  money  and  you  can 
pay  me  afterward.' 

"  But  with  that,  ass  that  I  was,  I  fell  to  begging 
him  to  take  the  claim,  and  saying  he  must  take  it, 
just  to  show  he  believed  I  trusted  him ;  and  so  after 
a  while  he  reluctantly  yielded  and  filled  out  a  pa 
per,  and  I  signed  it  and  got  in  the  warden  as  a 
witness,  and  he  rose  to  go. 

"  '  Well,  till  this  afternoon,'  says  he. 

"  '  Au  revoir,'  I  laughed,  '  get  yourself  a  bottle 
of  wine  for  me,'  says  I.  And  off  he  goes. 

"  As  I  passed  back  to  the  cells,  who  should  I  see 
beside  the  door  but  my  old  lawyer. 

"  I  shook  my  fist  in  his  face. 

"  *  You  old  robber,'  I  says,  '  we'll  see  if  I  can't 
get  along  without  you ! ' 

"  He  sneered  in  my  face. 

"  '  Oh,  you  fool ! '  says  he,  *  you  poor, 

poor, , fool !  ' 

"  Then  he  was  gone.  So  I  went  back  to  the  cell, 
and  sang  and  whistled  and  figured  on  where  I 
should  take  my  little  Flossie  for  dinner.  I  waited 
and  waited.  Six  o'clock,  and  no  word.  Then  I  be 
gan  to  get  nervous. 

304 


The  Maximilian  Diamond 

"  *  You  poor,  poor, , fool ! ' 

"  The  words  rang  around  in  my  cell.  Then 
something  sort  of  gave  inside.  I  knew  I'd  been 
robbed,  and  I  yelled  and  shook  the  bars  of  the 
door  and  tried  to  get  out.  I  cried  for  Flossie. 
The  keepers  came  and  told  me  to  keep  still;  but  I 
was  plump  crazy,  and  kept  on  yelling  until  every 
thing  got  black  and  I  fainted." 

"  And  your  lawyer  never  came  back?  " 

"  He  never  came  back !  "  Riggs  exclaimed. 
"  He  never  came  back !  I've  been  robbed !  I'm  a 

poor fool,  just  as  Todd  said  I  was."  Riggs 

burst  into  maudlin  tears. 

I  gave  him  what  consolation  I  could,  and  prom 
ised  thoroughly  to  investigate  his  story. 

The  keeper  and  Riggs  arose  in  unison,  the  same 
urbane  smile  that  had  previously  illuminated  the 
countenance  of  the  latter  restored. 

"  You  couldn't  manage  to  let  me  have  a  hand 
ful  of  cigars,  could  you?  "  he  whispered.  I  gave 
him  all  I  had.  His  cheek  was  irresistible.  I  would 
have  given  him  my  watch  had  he  intimated  a  de 
sire  for  it. 

Then  I  called  up  the  Custom-house. 

"  Paid?  "  came  back  the  voice  of  the  United 
States  District  Attorney.  "  Of  course  not.  The 
claim  is  worthless  until  the  diamond  is  sold;  and, 
anyway,  such  an  assignment  as  you  describe  is  in- 

305 


The  Maximilian  Diamond 

valid  under  our  statutes.  You  had  better  execute  a 
revocation,  however,  and  place  it  on  file  here.  Yes, 
I'll  look  out  for  the  matter." 

One  day,  about  a  week  later,  I  was  informed 
that  Riggs  had  been  convicted  of  assault,  and  sen 
tenced  to  a  year's  imprisonment  on  Blackwell's 
Island.  A  jury  of  his  peers  had  apparently  proved 
less  credulous  than  myself. 

Many  strange  epistles  from  his  place  of  confine 
ment  now  reached  me,  hinting  of  terrible  abuses, 
starvation,  oppression,  extortion.  He  was  still  the 
victim  of  a  conspiracy — this  time  of  prison  guards 
and  fellow  convicts.  He  prayed  for  an  opportu 
nity  to  lay  the  facts  before  the  authorities.  I  threw 
the  letters  aside.  It  was  clear  he  possessed  a 
powerful  imagination,  and  yet  his  tale  of  the  dis 
covery  of  the  diamond  had  been  absolutely  true. 
Well,  let  the  law  take  its  course. 

A  year  later  a  jovial-looking  person  called  at  my 
office,  and  I  recognized  my  old  friend  Riggs  in  a 
new  brown  derby  hat  and  checked  suit. 

After  shaking  hands  warmly,  he  presented  me 
with  a  card  reading : 

P.  LLEWELLYN  RIGGS, 
Private  Detective, 

—  Broadway. 
306 


The  Maximilian   Diamond 

'  Yes,"  he  explained  in  answer  to  my  surprised 
expression,  "  I've  gone  into  the  detective  business. 
My  unfortunate  conviction  is  only  a  sort  of  adver 
tisement,  you  know,  and  then  I  was  the  victim  of 
an  outrageous  conspiracy!  " 

"  But,"  said  I,  "  I  thought  you  were  going  to 
retire  on  the  proceeds  of  the  diamond." 

"  Why,  haven't  you  heard?  "  he  replied.  "  I 
gave  my  wife  an  assignment  of  the  claim  with  a 
power  of  attorney,  and  when  the  diamond  was  sold 
she  ran  away." 

"Ran  away?" 

'  Yes;  she  took  a  friend  of  mine  with  her.  But 
I  shall  find  her — just  as  I  did  the  diamond!  "  He 
struck  a  Sherlock  Holmes  attitude.  "  By  the  way, 
if  you  should  ever  want  any  detective  work  done 
you'll  remember " 

"  I  am  not  likely  to  forget,"  I  answered,  "  the 
victim  of  one  of  the  most  remarkable  conspiracies 
in  history." 

Meantime  the  Mexicans  were  tried,  convicted, 
and  sent  to  prison.  The  jewels  themselves  were 
duly  made  the  subject  of  condemnation  proceed 
ings,  and  whoso  peruseth  The  Federal  Reporter 
for  the  year  1901  may  read  thereof  under  the  title 
"  The  United  States  vs.  One  Diamond  Pendant 
and  Two  Ear-rings."  They  were,  so  to  speak, 

307 


The  Maximilian  Diamond 

tried,  properly  convicted,  and  sold  to  the  high 
est  bidder.  The  Mexicans  are  still  serving  out 
their  time.  One  turned  state's  evidence,  stating 
that  he  was  a  musician  and  had  won  the  love 
of  a  beautiful  senorita  in  the  city  of  Mexico  who 
had  given  him  the  gems  to  sell  in  order  that  they 
might  have  money  upon  which  to  marry.  He  also 
protested  that  his  sweetheart  had  inherited  them 
from  her  mother. 

Inside  the  cover  of  the  old  red  case  is  printed  in 
gold  letters: 

LA    ESMERALDA. 

F.  CAUSER  ZIHY  &  Co.,  Mexico  and  Paris. 

And  a  faintly  scented  piece  of  violet  note-paper 
lies  beneath  the  double  lining,  containing,  in  a 
woman's  hand,  this : 

The  diamond  necklace  is  from  Maximilian's  crown, 
the  Emperor  of  Mexico.  The  centre  stone  has  thirty- 
three  and  seven-tenths  carats,  and  the  eighteen  surround 
ing  it  no  less  than  one  each.  The  diamond  ring,  the 
stone  thereof,  was  in  Maximilian's  ring  at  the  time  he 
was  shot. 

But  that  is  all ;  there  is  nothing  to  tell  what  hand 
snatched  the  jewels  from  the  lifeless  fingers  of  the 
dead  Emperor,  or  who  purloined  the  necklace  from 
the  royal  household. 

308 


The  Maximilian  Diamond 

In  a  dusty  compartment  on  my  desk  there  lies  a 
brown  manila  envelope,  and  sometimes,  when  the 
day's  work  is  over  and  I  have  glanced  for  the  last 
time  across  the  court-yard  of  the  Tombs  at  the 
clock  tower  on  the  New  York  Life  Building,  I  take 
it  out  and  idly  read  the  press  story  of  the  famous 
diamond.  And  there  rises  dimly  before  me  the 
pathetic  scene  at  Queretaro  where  a  brave  and 
good  man  met  his  death,  and  I  wonder  if  per 
chance  there  is  any  truth  in  the  superstition  that 
some  stones  carry  ill-luck  with  them.  But  it  is  a 
far  cry  from  the  Emperor  of  Mexico  to  a  New 
York  bill-poster. 

Dockbridge  threw  the  manuscript  on  his  desk 
and  lit  a  cigarette. 

"  Is  that  all?  "  asked  the  lank  deputy,  stretching 
himself.  "  I  thought  it  was  going  to  have  some 
sort  of  a  plot." 

"  It's  a  pretty  good  story,"  said  the  chief  of 
staff.  "  Have  you  really  got  any  clippings?  " 

"  I  think  it's  rotten !  "  remarked  Bob. 

'  Well,  it's  every  word  of  it  true,  anyway," 
muttered  Dockbridge. 


309 


EXTRADITION 


Extradition 


"TAOCKBRIDGE,"  said  the  District  Attor- 
JL^  ney,  coming  hurriedly  out  of  his  office, 
"  I've  got  to  send  you  to  Seattle.  We've  just  lo 
cated  Andrews  there — Sam  Andrews  of  the  Boo 
dle  Bank.  One  of  Barney  Conville's  cases,  you 
remember.  Here's  the  Governor's  requisition. 
Barney's  down  in  Ecuador,  so  McGinnis  of  the 
Central  Office  will  go  out  to  make  the  arrest ;  but  I 
must  have  someone  to  look  after  the  legal  end  of 
it — to  fight  any  writ  of  habeas  corpus — and  handle 
the  extradition  proceedings.  They  might  get 
around  a  mere  policeman,  so  I'm  going  to  ask  you 
to  attend  to  it.  The  trip  won't  be  unpleasant,  and 
the  auditor  will  give  you  a  check  for  your  ex 
penses.  Remember,  now — your  job  is  to  bring 
Andrews  back!  " 

He  handed  his  assistant  a  bulky  document  be 
decked  with  seals  and  ribbons,  and  closed  the  door. 
Dockbridge  gazed  blankly  after  his  energetic 
chief. 

313 


Extradition 

"Oh,  certainly,  certainly!  Don't  mention  it! 
Delighted,  I'm  sure !  Thank  you  so  much !  "  he 
exclaimed  with  polite  sarcasm.  Then  he  turned 
ferociously  to  a  silent  figure  sitting  behind  the  rail 
ing.  "  Sudden,  eh?  Don't  even  ask  me  if  it's  con 
venient!  Exiles  me  for  two  months!  Just  drop 
over  to  Bombay  and  buy  him  a  package  of  cigar 
ettes  !  Or  run  across  to  Morocco  and  pick  up  Per- 
dicaris,  like  a  good  fellow !  Don't  you  regard  him 
as  a  trifle  inconsequent?  " 

Conville's  side  partner  McGinnis,  a  gigantic 
Irishman  with  extraordinarily  long  arms  and  huge 
hands,  climbed  disjointedly  to  his  feet. 

" /w-consequence,  is  it,  Mister  Dockbridge?" 
The  words  came  in  a  gentle  roar  from  the  altitudes 
of  his  towering  form.  "  Sure,  the  m-consequence 
of  it  is  that  we're  to  have  the  pleasure  of  travellin' 
togither."  He  looked  big  enough  to  swing  the 
little  Assistant  lightly  upon  one  shoulder  and  stride 
nimbly  across  the  continent  with  him. 

"  An  iligant  thrip  it  will  be !  I'm  only  regretful 
I  can't  take  me  wife  along  wid  me." 

Pat's  matrimonial  troubles  were  the  common 
property  of  the  entire  force.  The  only  person  to 
tally  unconscious  of  their  existence  was  McGinnis 
himself.  His  lady,  the  daughter  of  fat  ex-Detec 
tive-Sergeant  O'Halloran,  made  one  think  inevi 
tably  of  the  small  bird  that  travels  through  life 

3H 


Extradition 

roosting  on  the  shoulder  of  the  African  buffalo. 
His  domestic  life  would  have  been  one  of  wild  ex 
citement  for  the  average  citizen,  but  McGinnis  had 
a  blind  and  unwavering  faith  in  the  perfection  of 
his  spouse.  Conceive,  however,  his  surprise  when 
the  Assistant  District  Attorney  suddenly  smote  him 
sharply  in  the  abdomen,  and  shouted : 

"I'll  do  it!" 

"Phwat?"  ejaculated  Pat. 
'  Take  my  wife !  " 

"  Yez  have  none,  ye  spalpeen !  " 

"  I'll  have  one  by  to-morrow !  " 

"  An'  is  it  Miss  Peggy  ye  mane?  " 

"  No  other.  The  county  pays  part  of  the  bills. 
I'll  make  this  my  wedding  trip !  " 

"  God  save  us,  Mr.  Dockbridge !  "  gasped  Mc 
Ginnis.  "  Ain't  he  the  little  divel !  "  he  added  to 
himself  delightedly. 

Peggy  had  at  first  opposed  strenuously  Jack's 
proposition.  The  idea  of  going  on  one's  honey 
moon  with  a  policeman !  Yes,  it  was  all  right  to 
combine  business  and  pleasure  on  occasion,  but  one 
did  not  usually  associate  business  with  marriage — 
at  least  she  hoped  she  did  not — for  Jack  Dock- 
bridge  knew  he  hadn't  a  cent,  and  neither  had  she. 
He  explained  guardedly  that  that  was  the  princi 
pal  reason  in  favor  of  the  plan.  They  would  have 
part  of  their  expenses  paid. 


Extradition 

Peggy,  being  a  New  Englander,  acknowledged 
the  force  of  the  argument  but  pointed  out  that 
there  was  still  the  policeman. 

Then  Dockbridge  pictured  the  West  in  glowing 
colors.  Why,  there  were  so  many  bad  men  out 
there,  one  actually  needed  a  body-guard.  Had  she 
never  heard  of  the  Nagle  case?  What,  not  heard 
of  the  Nagle  case,  and  she  going  to  marry  a  law 
yer  !  A  newly  married  pair  could  not  travel  alone, 
unprotected. 

Peggy  said  he  was  a  fraud,  an  unadulterated 
fraud — an  unabashed  liar!  Still,  she  had  those 
furs  that  had  belonged  to  her  mother.  She  ad 
mitted,  also,  wondering  what  the  Rockies  were 
like.  If  she  did  not  marry  him  now,  how  long 
would  he  be  gone?  Six  months? 

Jack  explained  that  he  might  be  killed  by  In 
dians  or  desperadoes.  In  that  case  the  wisdom  of 
her  course  would  undoubtedly  be  apparent.  She 
could  then  marry  someone  else.  But  that  was  the 
reason  a  policeman  would  be  desirable.  And  then 
he  was  only  a  sort  of  policeman  himself,  anyway. 
One  more  would  make  little  difference.  In  the 
end  they  were  married. 


316 


Extradition 


II 

It  was  a  gay  little  party  of  three  that  left  Mon 
treal  for  Vancouver  the  following  Saturday.  The 
red-headed  Patrick  pruned  his  speech  and  proved 
himself  a  most  entertaining  comrade,  as  he  re 
counted  his  adventures  in  securing  the  return  of 
divers  famous  criminals  under  the  difficult  process 
of  extradition.  He  had  brought  safely  back 
"  Red  "  Mclntosh  from  New  Orleans,  and  Tre- 
lawney,  the  English  forger,  from  Quebec;  had 
captured  "  Strong  Arm  "  Moore  in  St.  Louis,  and 
been  an  important  figure  in  the  old  Manhattan 
Bank  cases.  He  insisted  on  addressing  Dock- 
bridge  as  "  Judge,"  and  introducing  him  to  all 
strangers  as  "  me  distinguished  frind,  the  Dis- 
thrick  Attorney  av  Noo  York." 

There  were  few  passengers  for  the  West,  and 
the  triumvirate  easily  became  friendly  with  the 
conductors,  brakemen,  and  engine  hands  upon  the 
various  divisions.  The  trip  itself  proved  one  un 
alloyed  delight.  Peggy  sat  for  hours  spellbound  at 
the  windows  as  the  train  sang  along  the  frozen 
rails  around  the  ice-bound  shores  of  Superior  and 
through  the  snow-mantled  forests  of  Ontario. 
Sometimes  the  three  in  furs  and  mufflers  clung  to 
the  reverberating  platform  of  the  end  car  watching 

317 


Extradition 

the  diminishing  track,  or  held  their  breath  in  the 
swaying  cab  as  the  engine  thundered  through  the 
drifts  of  Manitoba  and  Assinibola  toward  Moose 
Jaw,  Calgary,  and  the  Rockies. 

In  the  monotonous  hours  across  the  frozen 
prairie  Peggy  learned  all  the  mysteries  of  the 
throttle,  the  magic  of  the  reversing  gear,  the  pres 
sure-valve  and  the  brakes,  and  once,  when  there 
was  a  clear  track  for  a  hundred  miles,  the  driver, 
with  his  perspiring  brow  and  frosty  back,  allowed 
her  slender  fingers  to  guide  the  dangerous  steed. 
For  an  hour  he  stood  behind  her  as  she  opened  and 
closed  the  valve,  pulled  the  whistle  at  his  direction, 
and  slackened  on  the  curves.  She  was  undeniably 
pretty.  The  driver  had  been  stuck  on  a  girl  that 
looked  a  bit  like  her  out  on  the  Edmonton  run. 
He  opined  loudly  that  by  the  time  they  reached 
Vancouver  Peggy  could  send  her  along  about  as 
well  as  he  could  himself.  He  repeated  this  em 
phatically,  with  much  blasphemy,  to  the  fireman. 

Peggy  lived  in  an  ecstasy  of  happiness.  At  odd 
moments  she  perused  diligently  her  husband's  copy 
of  "  Moore  on  Extradition."  She  didn't  intend  to 
be  the  man  of  the  family — she  was  too  sensible  for 
that — but  she  saw  no  reason  why  a  woman  should 
not  know  something  about  her  husband's  profes 
sion,  particularly  when  it  was  as  exciting  a  one  as 

Jack'sc 

318 


Extradition 

Four  days  brought  them  within  sight  of  the 
mountains,  and  the  next  morning,  when  they 
stopped  for  water,  the  whole  range  of  the  Cana 
dian  Rockies  lay  around  and  above  them,  their  vir 
gin  summits  sparkling  in  the  winter  sun. 

"  Glad  you  came,  Peg?  "  shouted  Dockbridge, 
hurling  a  feather-weight  snowball  in  her  direction 
as  she  stood  on  the  platform  in  silent  wonder  at 
the  scene. 

She  answered  only  with  a  deep  inspiration  of  the 
dry,  cold  air. 

"  Shure,  ain't  we  all  av  us? "  inquired  Mc- 
Ginnis  lighting  his  pipe.  "  Say,  this  beats  th' 
Bowery.  Th'  Tenderloin  ain't  in  it  wid  this.  I'd 
loike  to  camp  right  here  for  the  rest  of  me  days !  " 

There  was  something  so  unlikely  in  this,  since, 
apart  from  the  mountains,  the  only  visible  object  in 
the  landscape  was  a  watering-tank,  that  they  all 
laughed. 

Up  they  climbed  into  the  glistening  teeth  of  the 
divide,  clearing  at  last  the  first  Titanic  bulwark, 
now  in  the  darkness  of  Stygian  tunnels,  now  bathed 
in  glittering  ether,  until,  sweeping  down  past  the 
whole  magnificent  range  of  the  Selkirks,  they 
dropped  into  the  boisterous  canon  of  the  Eraser, 
and  knew  that  their  journey  was  drawing  to  a 
close. 

The  blue  shadows  of  morning  melted  into  the 
319 


Extradition 

breathless  splendor  of  high  noon  upon  the  sum 
mit  of  the  world,  then,  reappearing,  faded  to  pur 
ple,  azure,  gray,  until  the  blazing  sun  sank  in  an 
iridescent  line  of  burning  crests.  Night  fell 
again,  and  the  stars  crowded  down  upon  them  like 
myriads  of  flickering  lamps,  while  the  moon  swung 
in  and  out  behind  the  giant  peaks. 

"  Shure,  'tis  a  sad  thing  we  can't  ride  in  a  train, 
drawin'  th'  county's  money  foriver!  "  sighed  Mc- 
Ginnis  as  the  sunset  died  over  the  foaming  rapids. 

"Ah,  but  we've  work  to  do,  Pat!  "  answered 
PeggY-  '  You  mustn't  forget  Sam  Andrews  and 
the  Boodle  Bank.  There's  fame  and  fortune 
waiting  for  us." 

On  the  run  down  the  coast  they  held  a  council 
of  war.  Pat  was  to  continue  on  to  Seattle  and  ar 
rest  the  fugitive,  while  Jack  and  Peggy  hastened 
to  Olympia  to  secure  the  Governor's  recognition  of 
their  credentials  and  his  warrant  for  the  deliver 
ance  of  Andrews  to  the  representatives  of  the  State 
of  New  York. 

The  Governor,  a  short,  fat  man,  with  a  black 
beard,  proved  unexpectedly  tractable,  and  not  only 
issued  the  warrant,  but  invited  them  both  to  lunch. 
It  developed  that  he  had  graduated  from  Jack's 
college.  Oh,  yes,  he  knew  Andrews !  Not  a  bad 
sort  at  all.  One  of  those  fellows  that  under  pres 
sure  of  circumstances  had  technically  violated  the 

320 


Extradition 

law,  but  a  perfect  gentleman.  Of  course  he  had  to 
honor  their  requisition,  but  he  was  really  sorry  to 
see  such  a  decent  fellow  as  Andrews  placed  under 
arrest.  He  was  sure  that  Sam  would  take  the  af 
fair  in  the  proper  spirit  and  return  with  them 
voluntarily.  You  must  not  be  too  hard  on 
people!  Everybody  committed  crime — inadver 
tently.  There  were  so  many  statutes  that  you 
never  knew  when  you  were  stepping  over  the  line. 
He  frankly  sympathized  with  the  fugitive,  al 
though  obliged  officially  to  assist  them.  You  could 
not  help  feeling  that  way  about  a  man  you  always 
dined  with  at  the  club.  Well,  the  law  was  the  law. 
He  hoped  they  would  have  a  pleasant  trip  back. 
He  must  return  himself  to  the  Council  Chamber 
to  a  blasted  hearing — a  delegation  of  confounded 
Chinese  merchants. 

They  took  the  train  for  Seattle,  highly  elated. 
They  found  McGinnis,  together  with  the  prisoner 
and  his  lawyer,  awaiting  them  at  The  Ranier- 
Grand.  Andrews  proved  to  be  another  stout  man, 
with  a  brown  beard  and  a  pair  of  genial  gray  eyes. 
As  the  Governor  had  stated,  it  was  clear  that  he 
was  a  perfect  gentleman.  He  apologized  for 
bringing  his  lawyer.  It  was  only,  they  would  un 
derstand,  to  make  sure  that  his  arrest  was  entirely 
legal.  He  had  no  intention  of  attempting  to  re 
tard  or  thwart  their  purpose  in  any  way.  Of 

321 


Extradition 

course,  the  whole  thing  was  unfortunate  in  many 
respects,  but  that  he  should  be  desired  in  New 
York  to  unravel  the  complicated  affairs  of  the  bank 
was  only  natural.  Everything  could  be  easily  ex 
plained,  and,  in  the  meantime,  the  only  thing  to  do 
was  to  return  with  them  as  quickly  as  possible. 
Altogether  he  was  very  charming  and  entirely  con 
vincing.  He  hoped  they  would  not  consider  him 
presuming  if  he  suggested  that  a  few  days  in 
Seattle  would  prove  interesting  to  them ;  there  was 
so  much  that  was  beautiful  in  the  way  of  scenery  of 
easy  access;  and  in  the  meantime  he  could  get  his 
affairs  in  shape  a  little. 

Peggy  thought  that  was  a  splendid  idea.  It 
would  be  mean  to  take  Mr.  Andrews  away  with 
out  giving  him  a  chance  to  say  good-by  to  his 
friends,  and  she  wanted  to  see  Victoria  and  Esqui- 
mault,  and  Tacoma.  While  Mr.  Andrews  (in 
charge  of  McGinnis)  was  arranging  his  business 
matters,  she  and  Jack  could  do  the  sights.  In  the 
meantime  they  could  all  live  together  at  the  hotel, 
and  no  one  need  know  that  Mr.  Andrews  was  un 
der  arrest  at  all.  Jack  saw  no  harm  in  this,  and 
neither  did  McGinnis.  Andrews  was  politely 
grateful.  It  was  most  kind  of  them  to  treat  him 
with  such  courtesy.  He  hastened  to  assure  them 
they  would  not  have  any  reason  to  regret  so  doing. 

Two  days  passed.  The  Dockbridges  wearied 
322 


Extradition 

themselves  with  sight-seeing,  while  Andrews  busied 
himself  with  arrangements  to  depart.  The  favor 
able  impression  made  by  the  prisoner  upon  his 
captors  had  steadily  increased,  and  in  a  short 
time  they  found  themselves  regarding  him  in  the 
light  of  a  most  agreeable  companion  whom  fate 
had  thrown  in  their  way. 

"  And  now  for  New  York !  "  exclaimed  Jack, 
lighting  his  cigar,  as  they  sat  around  the  dinner- 
table  on  the  evening  of  the  third  day  after  their 
arrival  in  Seattle.  "  How  shall  we  go — Northern 
Pacific,  Union,  or  The  Short  Line  and  across  on 
The  Rock  Island?" 

"  Divel  a  bit  do  I  care,"  answered  Pat  comfort 
ably  from  behind  an  enormous  Manuel  Garcia 
Extravaganza,  tendered  him  by  Mr.  Andrews. 
"  Th'  longer  th'  better,  suits  me.  'Tis  the  county 
pays  me,  an'  I  loike  ridin'  in  the  cars  down  to 
th'  ground." 

"  What  is  the  prettiest  way,  Mr.  Andrews?  "  in 
quired  Peggy,  "  You  know  the  country.  Where 
would  we  see  the  most  mountains?  " 

Had  it  not  been  for  the  thick  clouds  of  cigar 
smoke,  they  would  have  noticed  the  flash  of  An 
drews'  gray  eyes  which  so  quickly  died  away.  He 
hesitated  a  moment,  as  if  giving  the  matter  the  con 
sideration  it  deserved. 

"  There's  practically  no  choice,"  he  replied  at 
323 


Extradition 

length,  knocking  the  ash  from  his  cigar.  "  They're 
all  lovely  at  this  time  of  year.  The  Rock  Island 
route  is  longer,  but  perhaps  it  is  the  more  interest 
ing."  He  paused  doubtfully,  then  resumed  his 
cigar. 

But  Peggy,  who  at  the  thought  of  the  trip  had 
become  all  eagerness,  had  observed  his  manner. 

'  You  were  going  to  add  something,  Mr.  An 
drews;  what  was  it?  " 

Andrews  smiled.  "  Oh,  nothing !  I  was  about 
to  say  that  if  it  wasn't  such  a  tough  journey  you 
might  go  back  by  the  Northern  Montana  and  con 
nect  with  the  Soo.  It's  a  magnificent  trip  in  sum 
mer,  but  I  dare  say  pretty  cold  in  winter.  Won 
derful  scenery,  though." 

"  Let's  go !  "  exclaimed  Peggy.  "  That's  what 
we  are  after — scenery!  I  don't  care  if  it  is  cold. 
I've  got  my  furs.  Montana,  you  say?  And  the 
Soo?  That  sounds  like  Indians.  What  do  you 
say,  Jack?  " 

"Oh,  I  don't  mind!"  answered  her  husband. 
"  Andrews  knows  best.  He's  been  that  way. 
Sure,  if  you  say  so." 

Andrews  hid  a  smile  by  lighting  another  cigar. 


324 


Extradition 


III 

All  day  long  the  snow  had  been  falling  steadily 
in  big,  fluffy  flakes.  The  heavy  train  ploughed 
through  dense  pine-clad  ravines,  beside  torrents 
buried  far  below  the  snow,  under  sheds  into  whose 
inky  blackness  the  engine  plunged  as  into  the 
bowels  of  the  earth,  across  vibrating  trestles,  and 
up  grades  that  seemed  never-ending,  where  the 
driving-wheels  slipped  and  ground  ineffectually, 
then  clutched  the  sanded  rails  and  slowly  forged 
onward.  For  two  days  it  had  been  thus,  and  from 
the  windows  only  the  gently  falling,  ever-falling 
snow  met  the  eye.  Heavy  clouds  shrouded  the 
shoulders  of  the  mountains,  and  the  gorges  be 
tween  them  were  choked  with  mist.  And  onward, 
upward,  always  upward  groaned  the  train. 

Inside  Jack's  compartment  in  the  first  Pullman 
sat  the  four  members  of  our  party  playing  cards, 
now  on  the  best  of  terms.  They  had  long  since 
given  up  condoling  upon  the  weather,  and  had 
settled  down  to  making  the  best  of  it  with  cards, 
chess-board,  and  books.  Between  McGinnis  and 
the  prisoner  flowed  an  unending  stream  of  anec 
dotes  and  adventures.  It  could  not  be  denied  that 
the  erstwhile  bank  president  was  a  man  of  much 
culture  and  wide  reading.  He  had  studied  for  the 

325 


Extradition 

bar,  and  from  time  to  time  astounded  Dockbridge 
by  the  acuteness  of  his  mental  processes.  This  was 
the  afternoon  of  the  second  day,  and  they  were  just 
completing  their  thirteenth  rubber  of  whist. 

The  snow  fell  thicker  as  the  light  waned;  soon 
the  lamps  were  lighted  and  the  shades  were  drawn. 
The  through  passengers  on  the  train  were  few,  and 
the  good-natured  conductor  had  adopted  the  party 
for  the  trip. 

"  We're  'most  at  the  top  o'  the  pass,"  he  re 
marked,  as  he  paused  to  inspect  Jack's  hand  over 
his  shoulder.  "  Should  ha'  made  it  an  hour  ago 
but  for  this  blank  snow.  I  never  saw  it  so  thick. 
Too  bad  you've  missed  the  whole  range,  and  to 
morrow  morning  we'll  be  at  Souris,  and  then 
nothin'  but  prairie  all  across  Dakota.  When  you 
wake  up,  the  mountains  '11  be  two  hundred  miles 
west  of  you.  Hard  luck !  " 

"  My  trick,"  said  Andrews.  "  What's  that, 
conductor?  Souris  to-morrow  morning?  Any 
stops  to-night?  " 

"  Nope ;  clear  down-hill  track  all  the  way. 
There's  a  flag  station  an  hour  beyond  the  divide — 
Ferguson's  Gulch,  and  sometimes  we  stop  for  wa 
ter  at  Red  River.  There's  no  regular  station 
there,  and  Jim  wants  to  make  up  time,  so  I  reckon 
we'll  make  the  run  without  stoppin'.  Are  you 
folks  ready  for  dinner?  " 

326 


Extradition 

The  strain  on  the  wheels  suddenly  relaxed,  and 
it  seemed  as  though  the  whole  train  sighed  with 
relief.  Ahead,  the  engine  gave  a  succession  of 
quick  snorts,  as  if  rejoicing  at  once  more  reaching  a 
level.  The  train  gathered  head-way. 

"  She's  over  the  divide,"  announced  the  con 
ductor,  taking  a  bite  from  the  plug  of  tobacco 
carefully  wrapped  in  his  red  silk  handkerchief. 
"Now  Jim  can  let  her  run." 

"  What  do  you  call  the  divide?  "  asked  Peggy. 

"  The  Lower  Kootenay,"  he  answered.  "  Oh, 
it's  great  here  in  summer!  Finest  thing  in  Can 
ada,  in  my  opinion." 

"  In  Canada !  "  exclaimed  Dockbridge,  with  a 
start.  "What  do  you  mean?  Are  we  in  Can 
ada?" 

"  You've  been  in  Canada  since  three  o'clock," 
was  the  reply.  "  We  cross  the  lower  left-hand  cor 
ner  of  Alberta — look  on  the  map  there  in  the 
folder.  After  makin'  the  divide  we  drop  right 
back  into  Montana.  They  couldn't  cross  the 
Rockies  at  this  point  without  leavin'  the  States  for 
a  few  miles." 

The  conductor  arose  and  unfolded  the  map. 

"  Ye  see,  here's  where  we  leave  Clarke  Fork, 
then  we  skirt  this  range,  turn  north,  followin'  that 
river  there,  the  north  branch  of  the  Flathead,  and 
so  over  the  line;  then  we  turn  and  jam  right 

327 


Extradition 

tnrough  the  range.  Two  hours  from  now  you'll  be 
back  in  the  old  U.  S." 

Dockbridge  had  started  to  his  feet  and  was 
staring  intently  at  the  map.  It  was  only  too  true. 
They  were  in  Canada.  In  Canada!  And  they  were 
holding  their  prisoner  without  due  process  of  law ! 
The  warrant  of  the  Governors  of  New  York  and 
Washington  were  valueless  in  his  Majesty's  Do 
minion.  Did  Andrews  know  ?  Jack  pretended  to 
study  the  map  before  him  and  glanced  furtively 
across  the  table.  Pat  was  scowling  ferociously  at 
the  cards  before  him,  and  Andrews  was  lighting  a 
cigarette.  Apparently  he  had  heard  nothing — or 
had  paid  no  attention  to  what  the  conductor  was 
saying.  With  his  brain  in  a  whirl  Dockbridge 
folded  up  the  time-table  and  handed  it  back. 

"  Well,  I'm  getting  ravenous,"  he  remarked. 

Just  then  the  porter  appeared  from  the  direction 
of  the  buffet  carrying  their  evening  meal. 

"  Same  here,"  echoed  Andrews. 

For  an  hour  or  more  they  lingered  over  the 
table,  Andrews  seeming  in  unusually  good  spirits. 
Dockbridge  ceased  to  feel  any  uneasiness.  He 
realized  how  easily  he  might  have  been  trapped, 
but  no  harm  was  done  in  the  present  instance,  for 
the  minute  section  of  Alberta  which  they  trav 
ersed  offered  no  opportunities  for  the  securing  of 
any  legal  process  by  which  their  prisoner  could  be 

328 


Extradition 

released.  Again,  Andrews  had  not  urged  the  route 
upon  them;  that  had  been  Peggy's  doing.  And, 
moreover,  was  he  not  returning  with  them  of  his 
own  free-will?  No,  it  was  absurd  to  have  been  so 
upset  at  such  a  trifling  matter. 

"  What  do  you  say  to  some  more  whist?  You 
and  I'll  be  partners  this  time,  Andrews." 

The  things  were  cleared  from  the  table  and  they 
began  again.  The  speed  of  the  train  seemed  to 
have  increased,  and  the  cars  swayed  from  side  to 
side  as  they  sped  down  the  grade.  Peggy  raised 
the  shade  and  looked  out.  The  pane  was  plastered 
with  an  ever-changing,  kaleidoscopic  crust  of  flakes 
that  spat  against  it,  dropped,  clogged  against  the 
others,  and  sagged  downward  in  a  dense  mass 
toward  the  sash.  At  the  top  of  the  glass  the 
storm  could  be  seen  whirling  down  its  myriads 
outside. 

"  What  a  night!  "  she  ejaculated,  as  she  pulled 
down  the  shade. 

At  that  moment  came  a  prolonged  wail  from 
the  engine,  followed  by  the  quick  clutch  of  the 
brakes.  The  wheels  groaned  and  creaked,  and  the 
passengers  tossed  forward  in  their  seats.  Again 
the  whistle  shrieked.  The  train,  carried  onward 
by  its  momentum,  ground  its  wheels  against  the 
brakes  which  strove  to  hold  them  back.  Gradually 
they  came  to  a  stand-still. 

329 


Extradition 

The  conductor  rushed  toward  the  door,  and  a 
brakeman  hurried  through  with  a  lantern. 

"  Ferguson's  Gulch !  "  he  shouted  as  he  ran  by. 
"  Must  ha'  signalled  us!  " 

Dockbridge's  heart  dropped  a  beat,  and  he 
glanced  apprehensively  toward  Andrews.  The  lat 
ter  was  smiling,  but  the  hand  that  held  his  cigar 
trembled  a  very  little. 

'  You're  young  yet,  Dockbridge,"  he  re 
marked,  with  slightly  tremulous  sarcasm.  "  There 
are  one  or  two  things  still  for  you  to  learn.  One 
of  them  is  that  a  United  States  warrant  is  useless 
in  Canada.  You  hadn't  thought  of  that,  eh?  " 

"  Warrant  is  it?  Shure  this  is  all  the  warrant 
/  want,"  replied  Pat,  snapping  a  shining  Colt  from 
his  pocket.  "  Plaze  don't  git  excited,  me  frind. 
P'r'aps  ye  don't  know  it  all,  yerself.  Wan  move, 
an'  I'll  put  six  holes  in  yer  carcus !  " 

Dockbridge  grasped  Peggy  by  the  arm  and 
drew  her  breathless  to  her  feet.  "What  is  it? 
What  is  it?  "  she  gasped,  clinging  to  him  in  the 
aisle.  Jack  reached  over  and  released  the  shade. 
Outside  in  the  darkness  red  lights  swung  to  and 
fro.  A  blast  of  icy  air  poured  into  the  car  from 
the  open  door.  He  hurried  out  into  the  vestibule. 
The  storm  was  sweeping  by  swiftly  and  silently, 
and  absurdly  the  motto  of  his  old  bicycle  club 
flashed  into  his  mind,  "  Volociter  et  silenter." 

330 


Extradition 

The  lamp  above  his  head  threw  a  yellow  circle 
against  the  vast  night.  Pie  stumbled  down  the 
steps  and  clung  to  the  rail,  putting  his  head  into 
the  sleet.  It  stung  his  face  like  the  tentacles  of  a 
sea-monster.  In  the  foreground  stood  the  conduct 
or,  already  white  with  the  snow,  his  lantern  swing 
ing  to  leeward  in  the  wind,  shouting  to  a  man  on 
horseback.  Four  other  mounted  figures,  their 
steeds  facing  the  blast,  marked  the  point  where  the 
light  ended  and  the  night  began  again.  Three 
train  hands,  each  with  a  lantern,  paced  to  and  fro 
beside  the  car.  Ahead  could  be  heard  the  cough 
ing  of  the  engine.  The  man  on  horseback  waved 
his  hand  in  the  direction  of  the  train,  flung  himself 
heavily  to  the  ground,  tossed  the  reins  to  one  of 
the  others,  and  strode  toward  the  car. 

"  Jones  and  Wilkes,  hold  the  horses;  Frazer  and 
White,  come  along  with  me,"  he  directed  over  his 
shoulder.  He  pushed  by  Dockbridge  and  climbed 
into  the  car.  The  conductor  followed. 

"  Where  is  the  officer  and  his  prisoner?  "  he 
demanded  in  a  harsh  voice. 

"  Inside,  your  Honor,"  answered  the  conductor, 
shaking  the  snow  from  his  coat.  "  This  is  Mr. 
Dockbridge,  the  District  Attorney  from  New 
York." 

"  Umph !  "  grunted  the  stranger.  He  was  an 
immense  man  with  a  heavy  jet-black  beard  and 

33i 


Extradition 

hair  in  thick  curls  all  over  his  head.  A  broad- 
brimmed  sombrero  cast  a  deep  shadow  over  his 
features,  heightening  their  natural  unpleasant 
ness.  Two  of  the  others  now  jumped  upon  the 
platform  and  entered  the  car,  and  Dockbridge  saw 
that  they  wore  some  kind  of  uniform  and  that  the 
lining  of  their  overcoats  was  red.  Peggy  cowered 
to  one  side  as  the  three  strangers  forced  their 
way  by  her  and  paused  at  the  door  of  the  com 
partment. 

"  Is  Mr.  Andrews  here? "  inquired  the  one 
whom  the  others  addressed  as  Judge. 

"  I  am  Mr.  Andrews.  This  is  the  officer  who 
holds  me  in  custody." 

The  Judge  turned  to  one  of  his  followers. 

"  Serve  him !  "  he  growled. 

The  one  addressed  took  from  beneath  his  coat 
a  bundle  of  papers,  and  selecting  one,  handed  it  to 
McGinnis,  who  let  it  fall  to  the  floor  without  a 
word. 

"  Put  up  that  pistol!  "  continued  the  Judge. 

At  this  moment  Dockbridge,  who  had  listened 
as  if  dazed  to  the  colloquy,  now  mastered  sufficient 
courage  to  assert  himself. 

"  Here !  what's  all  this?  "  he  exclaimed  in  as  de 
termined  a  manner  as  he  could  manage  to  assume. 
4  What  are  you  doing  in  my  compartment  with 
your  wet  feet?  Who  the  devil  are  you,  anyway?  " 

332 


Extradition 

He  squeezed  by  his  huge  antagonist  and  took  his 
stand  by  McGinnis. 

The  conductor  and  the  majority  of  the  train 
hands  had  crowded  into  the  passageway  and  filled 
the  door  with  their  dripping  and  astonished  faces. 
The  officer  handed  another  paper  to  Dockbridge. 

"  This  is  Judge  Peters,  sir;  and  this  paper  is  a 
writ  of  habeas  corpus  returnable  forthwith,  sir," 
said  the  man. 

Dockbridge  glanced  at  the  paper  and  saw  that 
the  officer's  statement  was  correct.  The  paper  was 
a  writ  ordering  him  to  produce  the  body  of  Samuel 
Andrews  before  the  Honorable  Elijah  Peters, 
Judge  of  the  Supreme  Court  of  Alberta,  forthwith, 
and  show  cause  why  said  Andrews  should  not  be 
set  at  liberty.  He  was  trapped.  It  could  not  be 
denied. 

"  Is  this  Judge  Peters?  "  he  inquired  politely  of 
the  man  with  the  black  beard,  who  had  taken  off 
his  hat  and  seated  himself  upon  the  sofa. 

"  I  am,"  returned  the  other  curtly.  "  And  I 
now  pronounce  this  car  a  court,  and  direct  you  to 
release  your  prisoner  as  detained  by  you  without 
lawful  authority." 

He  leaned  forward  and  shook  his  finger  threat 
eningly  at  McGinnis.  "  Put  up  that  pistol!  " 

McGinnis  looked  at  Dockbridge. 

"  Put  it  up,  Pat,"  directed  the  latter.  "  There's 
333 


Extradition 

no  occasion  for  pistols."  He  winked  at  Peggy. 
"  Pardon  my  lack  of  courtesy  in  addressing  you, 
Judge  Peters,  when  you  first  entered.  I  was  un 
aware,  of  course,  to  whom  it  was  that  I  spoke." 

The  Judge  shrugged  his  shoulders  deprecat- 
ingly. 

"  I'm  naturally  taken  somewhat  by  surprise,  and 
hardly  feel  that  I  can  do  justice  to  my  own  position 
in  the  matter  at  such  short  notice.  However,  as 
the  court  is  now  in  session,  I  can  only  ask  the  privi 
lege  of  arguing  the  matter  before  your  Honor.  If 
I  might  be  permitted  to  do  so,  I  would  suggest 
that  the  hearing  take  place  in  some  larger  space 
than  this  compartment,  in  which  my  wife  desires 
speedily  to  retire."  He  looked  inquiringly  toward 
the  Court. 

"  That's  right,  Jedge,"  spoke  up  the  conductor. 
"  Don't  keep  the  lady  out  of  her  room.  You  can 
hold  court  in  the  baggage-car." 

The  black-bearded  man  grumblingly  arose  to 
his  feet,  leaving  a  large  pool  of  water  in  the  middle 
of  the  floor. 

"  As  you  choose.  Bring  along  the  prisoner,  and 
be  quick  about  it.  I've  got  to  ride  fifteen  miles  to 
night." 

The  crowd  streamed  down  the  aisle  and  into  the 
baggage-car  in  front.  McGinnis  followed  with 
Andrews. 

334 


Extradition 

"Shall  I  come  along,  Jack?"  whispered  his 
wife. 

"  No,  stay  here.  I'm  afraid  we're  beaten.  I 
shall  only  spar  for  time,  and  try  to  invent  some  way 
out  of  it." 

Peggy  sadly  watched  his  disappearing  form. 
What  a  disgusting  anticlimax!  She  reviled  her 
self  for  being  the  one  who  had  forced  the  selection 
of  the  Montana  route.  It  was  all  her  fault. 
When  a  man's  married  his  troubles  begin !  Jack 
would  lose  his  job,  and  then  where  would  they  be? 
She  had  gotten  him  into  the  fix,  and  now  she  would 
do  her  best  to  get  him  out  of  it.  She  threw  on  his 
fur  coat  and  cap  and  followed  into  the  baggage- 
car.  The  Judge  had  seated  himself  on  a  trunk. 
Jack  stood  at  his  right  with  the  warrant  in  his 
hand.  A  single  lantern  cast  a  fitful  glare  over  the 
two,  around  whom  crowded  the  passengers  and 
train  hands.  Peggy  heard  her  husband's  some 
what  immature  voice  stating  the  circumstances 
of  the  wreck  of  the  Boodle  Bank.  The  Judge 
seemed  not  uninterested.  The  crowd  was  getting 
larger  every  moment.  Passengers  kept  coming  in 
in  every  kind  of  dishabille,  and  last  of  all  the  engi 
neer  and  fireman  entered  by  the  forward  door. 
Outside,  the  huge  engine  hissed  and  throbbed  as  if 
impatient  of  the  delay.  Peggy  slipped  unseen  be 
hind  a  pile  of  trunks,  snapped  the  big  padlock 

335 


Extradition 

through  the  staples  of  the  door,  then,  hurrying 
back  to  the  compartment,  rummaged  until  she 
found  Jack's  box  of  cigars.  Arming  herself  with 
these  and  with  her  copy  of  "  Moore  on  Extradi 
tion,"  she  made  her  way  back  to  the  baggage-car. 

'Yes,  yes,  I  know  all  that!  "  the  Judge  was 
saying.  "  But  that's  all  immaterial.  It  ain't  what 
he  did.  It's  what  right  you've  got  to  hold  him  in 
the  Dominion  of  Canada  on  a  warrant  from  a 
governor  of  one  of  the  United  States.  Show  me 
that,  or  I'll  discharge  the  prisoner  here  and  now." 

"  Excuse  me,  please,"  exclaimed  Peggy,  forcing 
her  way  through  the  throng  into  the  open  space 
under  the  lamp,  "  I  thought  you  might  like  to 
smoke.  Lawyers  all  like  to  smoke." 

There  was  an  immediate  response  from  the 
Court. 

"  Well,  I  don't  care  if  I  do,"  remarked  the 
Judge  more  genially.  "  Confounded  cold  out  there 
in  the  snow  waiting  for  the  train.  Thank  y'." 

He  handed  back  the  box,  and  Peggy  passed  it 
to  the  engineer  and  told  him  to  "  send  it  along." 
Then  she  whispered  in  her  husband's  ear: 

"  Read  him  that  chapter  on  '  International  Re 
lations.'  Keep  it  going  for  ten  minutes,  and  we'll 
win  out,  yet.  I've  got  a  scheme." 

Dockbridge  took  the  book,  opened  it  deliber 
ately,  and  lighted  a  cigar  for  himself.  Peggy 

336 


Extradition 

pushed  back  through  the  spectators  to  the  sleeping- 
car.  Only  a  solitary  brakeman  remained  outside  in 
the  snow,  stamping  and  swinging  his  arms. 

"  Halloo,  Mr.  Sanders,"  said  Peggy,  "  you 
ought  to  go  in  and  hear  the  argument.  They're 
having  a  regular  smoke  talk.  It's  so  thick  I  can't 
breathe.  They're  giving  away  cigars.  I  should 
think  you  would  freeze." 

"  Well,  I'm  froze  already,"  answered  Sanders. 
"  I  reckon  I'll  go  in  and  hear  the  fun.  Is  that 
straight  about  the  cigars?  " 

"  Of  course  it  is,"  laughed  Peggy,  while  San 
ders  climbed  on  board.  The  snow  swept  by  in 
clouds  as  Peggy  gave  one  glance  at  the  retreating 
form  of  the  brakeman,  and  jumped  down  into  the 
night. 

IV 

The  Judge  threw  back  his  burly  form  against 
the  side  of  the  car  and  exhaled  a  thick  cloud  of 
smoke. 

"  Now,  young  feller,  if  you  have  any  legal  right 
to  detain  your  prisoner,  let's  hear  it.  This  court's 
goin'  to  adjourn  in  just  ten  minutes  by  the  watch, 
and  I  reckon  when  it  adjourns  it'll  take  the  pris 
oner  with  it." 

The  spectators,  who  had  seated  themselves  as 
337 


Extradition 

best  they  could,  looked  expectantly  toward  the 
New  Yorker. 

Jack  arose,  holding  the  book  impressively  be 
fore  him.  The  gusts  from  the  storm  outside  pene 
trated  the  cracks  of  the  loosely  hung  sliding  bag 
gage-door  and  made  the  feeble  lantern  swing  and 
flicker.  The  smoke  from  twenty  cigars  swirled 
round  the  ceiling.  The  conductor  placed  his  own 
lantern  on  a  trunk  by  Jack's  side. 

"  If  the  Court  please,"  began  Dockbridge, 
"  while  it's  entirely  true  that  no  warrant  issued  out 
of  a  court  of  the  United  States  or  by  a  governor  of 
one  of  the  United  States  gives  any  jurisdiction  over 
the  person  of  a  fugitive  who  is  held  in  custody  in 
the  Dominion  of  Canada,  it  is  nevertheless  a  fact 
that  under  the  principle  of  comity  between  friendly 
nations  the  government  of  one  will  not  interfere 
with  an  officer  of  another  who  is  performing  an 
official  act  under  color  of  authority."  ["  Sounds 
well,"  said  Jack  to  himself,  "  but  don't  mean  a 
blame  thing."]  "  This  principle  is  as  old  as  the 
law  itself,  and  is  sustained  by  a  long  series  of  de 
cisions  in  our  international  tribunals.  The  doc 
trine  is  clearly  set  forth  by  Grotius  "  ["  that  ought 
to  nail  him!  "]  "  when  he  says:  '  No  nation  will 
voluntarily  interfere  with  a  duly  authorized  officer 
of  another  nation  in  the  performance  of  his  duty, 
whose  act  does  not  interfere  with  the  functions  of 

338 


Extradition 

government  of  the  other.'  '  He  pronounced  this 
balderdash  with  much  solemnity  and  with  great 
effect  upon  the  assembled  train  hands.  "  Now, 
your  Honor,  I  am  a  duly  authorized  officer  of  the 
State  of  New  York,  the  same  being  at  peace  with 
the  Dominion  of  Canada." 

"  Bosh !  "  interrupted  the  Judge.  "  You're  talk- 
in'  nonsense.  I  won't  be  made  a  fool  of  any 
longer.  Prisoner  discharged.  This  court  stands 
adjourned,  and,  as  I  said,  it  is  goin'  to  take  the 
prisoner  with " 

A  jerk  of  the  train  prevented  the  conclusion  of 
his  sentence.  There  came  another  pull  from  the 
engine,  followed  by  a  succession  of  violent  puffs. 
The  train  started. 

"  My  God!  The  engine!"  shouted  the  fire 
man,  making  a  spring  for  the  door. 

"Locked!  Locked!"  he  yelled,  and  threw 
himself  upon  it.  The  conductor  dived  for  the  plat 
form.  The  Judge  started  to  his  feet. 

'  This  is  an  infernal  trick!  "  he  cried.     "  Stop 
this  train  !     D'ye  hear?    Stop  this  train  at  once  !  " 

But  the  train  was  gathering  head-way  every  mo 
ment,  and  was  fast  dropping  down  the  grade.  A 
triumphant  whistle  shrilled  through  the  night  with 
a  succession  of  short  toots. 

"  For  God's  sake,  open  the  door!  "  gasped  the 
engineer.  "  Get  a  crow-bar,  somebody !  We'll  be 

339 


Extradition 

going  a  hundred  miles  an  hour  inside  of  a  min 
ute!  "  But  no  crow-bar  was  to  be  found,  and  the 
door  resisted  all  their  efforts.  On  rushed  the  train, 
thundering  down  the  pass,  swaying  around  curves 
until  the  frightened  occupants  of  the  baggage-car 
clung  to  one  another  to  retain  their  foothold,  and 
every  moment  adding  to  its  speed.  The  baggage 
man  threw  open  the  side  door.  The  night  dashed 
by  in  a  solid  wall  of  white. 

"Damme!  This  is  a  crime!"  roared  the 
Judge.  "  I'm  being  kidnapped.  Your  Govern 
ment  shall  be  notified — if  we're  not  all  killed. 
Can't  somebody  stop  this  train?  Do  you  hear? 
Stop  it,  I  say!  " 

For  an  instant  Dockbridge  had  been  as  startled 
as  the  others.  Then  it  came  to  him  in  one  in 
spired  moment.  Peggy  was  on  the  engine!  A 
series  of  whistles  came  across  the  tender. 

"  Toot  —  toot  —  toot !  Toot  —  toot  —  toot ! 
Toot — toot — toot !  Toot — toot !  " — the  old  Har 
vard  cheer  that  Peggy  had  heard  echoing  across 
the  foot-ball  field  a  hundred  times. 

Of  course !  She  was  going  to  fetch  them  out  of 
Canada,  and  then  to  thunder  with  all  the  judges  of 
the  Dominion!  He  began  to  laugh  hysterically. 
On  and  on,  faster  and  faster,  rushed  the  train. 
The  pallid  faces  of  the  passengers  and  crew  stared 
strangely  out  of  the  blue  haze.  Breathless,  each 

340 


Extradition 

man  struggled  to  keep  his  footing,  momentarily 
expecting  to  be  dashed  into  eternity.  The  minutes 
dragged  as  hours,  until  at  last,  from  somewhere 
in  the  rear  of  the  train,  the  fireman  returned  with  a 
wrench,  and  throwing  his  whole  weight  upon  the 
padlock,  quickly  snapped  its  staples.  The  door 
burst  open,  sending  him  flying  headlong.  Through 
the  car  poured  a  furious  gust  of  wind  and  snow, 
blinding,  suffocating,  and  into  the  midst  of  this 
jumped  the  engineer,  and,  clambering  desperately 
upon  the  tender,  disappeared. 

Perhaps  it  was  the  dimness  of  the  light,  but  An 
drews  had  suddenly  begun  to  look  white  and  old. 

At  the  same  moment  a  red  light  flashed  by  along 
side  the  track  and  the  train  roared  across  a  suspen 
sion  bridge  without  slackening  speed. 

"  Red  River!  "  gasped  the  fireman,  clambering 
to  his  feet. 

The  blood  leaped  in  Jack's  veins.  Red  River! 
Then  they  were  across  the  line.  Peggy  had  won  I 
God  bless  her !  With  a  triumphant  glance  at  the 
cowering  Andrews,  he  turned  upon  the  frightened 
crowd. 

"  You  can't  beat  the  Yankee  girl!  "  he  shouted. 
"  Judge,  you're  right.  We've  adjourned  court, 
and  are  taking  the  prisoner  with  us — INTO  THE 
UNITED  STATES  !  " 


34i 


BY    ARTHUR     TRAIN 

THE 
BUTLER'S    STORY 

Illustrated  by  F.  C.  YOHN.    $1.50 

"After  reading  him  we  can  add  to  the 
service  he  has  done  us  by  reaching  to  the 
shelf  where  rests  our  Thackeray  and  re 
reading  the  'Yellowplush  Papers.'' 

— Boston  Transcript. 

"Mr.  Train  has  done  a  highly 'artistic 
bit  of  work  and  has  written  an  unusually 
original  and  diverting  story." 

— Cleveland  Plain  Dealer. 

"Quite  a  bit  of  social  philosophy  may 
be  found  deftly  sandwiched  between  the 
more  exciting  portions  of  this  jolly  good 
narrative.  Moreover,  'The  Butler's  Story' 
is  replete  with  interest  and  fun." 

— Chicago  Record- Herald. 

"He  has  written  the  cleverest  and  most 
enlivening  social  satire  of  recent  years." 

—  The  Minneapolis  Tribune. 


BY      ARTHUR      TRAIN 

THE  PRISONER  AT 
THE  BAR 

SIDE  LIGHTS  ON  THE  ADMINISTRATION 

OF  CRIMINAL  JUSTICE 

8vo.     $1.50  net 

A  new  edition  of  this  successful  book  containing  an 
additional  chapter  dealing  with  insanity  as  a  defence  in 
criminal  cases,  an  Index  and  a  valuable  Bibliography. 
Professor  Wigmore,  of  Northwestern  University,  the 
leading  authority  on  the  law  of  evidence,  has  written 
a  highly  appreciative  preface  to  this  new  edition. 


CONTENTS 

What  Is  Crime?  The  Trial  of  Felonies 

Who  are  the  Real  The  Judge 

Criminals?  The  Jury 

The  Arrest  The  Witness 

The  Police  Court  The  Verdict 

The  Trial  of  Misdemeanors    The  Sentence 
The  Grand  Jury  Women  in  the  Courts 

The  Law's  Delays  Tricks  of  the  Trade 

Red  Tape  What  Fosters  Crime? 

Insanity  as  a  Defence 


"  He  has  succeeded  in  investing  the  topic  with  an  interest 
considerably  exceeding  that  of  the  ordinary  novel." 

— New  York  Tribune. 

"There  was  need  for  just  such  a  book  as  Arthur  Train 
has  given  us.  ...  It  is  a  volume  as  entertaining  as  it  is 
instructive,  and  it  is  packed  with  anecdotes  drawn  from 
the  author's  personal  experiences  or  observation,  or  cur 
rent  among  members  of  the  New  York  Bar.  The  book 
deserves  a  careful  reading." — Springfield  Republican. 


BY     ARTHUR     TRAIN 

TRUE  STORIES  OF 
CRIME 

FROM  THE  DISTRICT  ATTORNEY'S  OFFICE 
Illustrated.      1 2mo,   $1.50 

"The  fascination  of  the  detective  story  and  the  flavor 
of  truth  combine  to  give  these  stories  a  unique  place 
in  literature." — Montreal  Gazette. 

"Each  chapter  recounts  some  peculiar  and  notable 
phase  of  criminal  activity.  It  is  a  fascinating  book 
for  any  one  who  loves  the  dramatic  unfolding  of  a 
mystery." — Brooklyn  Eagle. 

"He  has  a  field  of  his  own  which  he  exploits  cleverly, 
earnestly,  and  what  is  better  than  either  from  the 
reader's  standpoint,  interestingly." 

— Minneapolis  Tribune. 

"The  stories  read  like  fiction  rather  than  a  tran 
script  from  the  criminal  records." 

— Springfield  Union. 

"He  makes  living  entities  of  the  characters  and  pre 
sents  them  to  the  mind  in  their  proper  environ 
ment." — Boston  Globe. 


BY      ARTHUR      TRAIN 

MCALLISTER  AND 
HIS  DOUBLE 

Illustrated.    12mo.    $1.50 

11  Since  Richard  Harding  Davis  wrote  about  Van 
Bibber  there  have  been  no  short  stories  with  a  Man 
hattan  background  more  entertaining  than  those  in 
Arthur  Train's  'McAllister  and  His  Double.'  They 
have  a  very  superior  urban  quality  and  show  a  fresh 
ness  of  invention  and  delicacy  of  handling  that  are 
quite  unusual  in  stories  of  the  town." — N.  Y.  Globe. 

"Aside  from  the  entertainment  afforded  by  the  fun 
and  nonsense  of  the  stories,  there  is  here  and  there  a 
deep  note  struck  that  makes  them  worth  considering 
seriously,  a  note  of  sympathy  for  the  under  dog,  of 
pity  and  understanding  for  the  poor  wretches  who  are 
down,  that  gives  the  tales  a  strong  human  appeal." 

— Philadelphia  Telegraph. 

"A  spirited  series  of  entertaining  narratives  of  a 
somewhat  original  detective  type." — Boston  Transcript. 

"  Mr.  Train  knows  how  to  tell  a  good  story,  and 
understands  the  art  of  springing  his  climax  at  the 
psychological  moment." — Nashville  American. 

"  The  McAllister  stories  are  entertaining  from  start  to 
finish." — The  Independent. 

"  Written  with  a  combined  snap  and  humor  that 
make  them  a  very  safe  investment  as  a  source  of 
entertainment. " — Life. 

CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILIT 


A     000  181  824     4 


